The Final Jerusalem
by Kaj-Nrig
Summary: After being abruptly awakened, Vincent Valentine searches for a familiar face in a world that has changed drastically. People say that the past catches up with you, however, and Vincent is about to find out that a ghost from his past isn't exactly dead.
1. Rude Awakening

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix. I use these characters without permission.

* * *

Darkness settled upon him like a second skin, and the citizens of Rocket Town, all of whom he no longer recognized, did their best to keep their distance from him. His left hand hidden under his crimson cloak, fingering a wound on his shoulder, the man's equally crimson eyes drew unconsciously to the open space where, a half century ago, had lain four great spires of steel and rust.

A group of well-muscled men eyed him menacingly, their glares tracking the almost imperceptible shine of the eight Materia securely fastened to the belt of his outfit. He gave them no heed, opting instead to turn into an emptying town square. The locals could sense the impending battle and were hastily closing their windows and locking up doors. As the last straggler stumbled through the cobbled streets to hide in an alley, one of the muscled men strode imposingly to the front of the pack, a self-assured smirk on his face.

The darkened and infinitely smaller man stood his ground, as if hesitant to turn and face this looming giant. Finally, though, after a long moment, he took a slow, measured step to face the menacing pack. The setting sun silhouetted his figure, and when he brought his arm back to his side, the light flickered enticingly off his golden hand. The evening glow threw his form into an inky blackness, causing the ruby orbs that were his eyes to shimmer lightly, starkly contrasting against his shadowed body.

"Hey, mister," the large man said casually, an easy, carefree threat in his voice. "Strange looking get-up you've got there, but we're not here for that. We can see you've got quite a bit of Materia there, and we were wondering if you'd mind... givin' us some of 'em." The small man didn't respond, simply drilling holes into him with his crimson eyes. His resolve wavering under the heat of that otherworldly stare, the man nearly stopped his taunting, but with a look at his comrades, he continued, as if more frightened of their revenge than this red-eyed demon in front of him, "Not much of a talker, I see. Well, let me put it this way, then. If you don't give those Materia to us, then me and my buddies here'll have to take it from you... get my drift?" To prove his point, he gave a quick hand gesture and everybody unsheathed various weapons, from daggers to nightsticks to bladed whips. On each was at least one pair of Materia, their concealed powers offering them a glimmer that spoke of their thinly-veiled strength.

The stranger looked at them, and those eyes, those deadly irises, continued to pour out ruby light without so much as a shred of fear. "What happened to the rocket here?" he asked, disregarding their lethal weapons with practiced ease.

"Wha?" The leader scratched his head in confusion. The others also wondered amongst themselves. "What rocket're you talking about- hey, dick face, I didn't ask you for your damn questions! Now hand over your Materia and there won't be any trouble!"

The man stared at him, not budging an inch. The thug caught himself just on the verge of breaking under that incredibly intense gaze when a low reply wafted over the breeze. "No," the stranger answered nonchalantly.

The muscled men let out hollers of amusement and jest. "Alright, fuckface, your call!" they shouted in unison, raising their weapons. "Let 'em loose, fellas!" Sparks of flame erupted from their weapons, sailing across the vast emptiness in a matter of moments and engulfing the dark man in their magical infernos.

He waited patiently as the flames roved gently over his body and clothes, repelled almost by some magnetic force and dissipating into the open air. As the flames died off, he could faintly make out the group's astonished gasps.

"Wh-what the hell!? He wasn't even scratched!"

"Holy shit, what IS he!?"

Reaching behind him, the cloaked man pulled out a long rifle, its dark surface nearly gleaming with the bloodstains from the countless enemies it had dispatched. He noticed with contempt the distinct shimmer of greed in their eyes at the sight of eight more glimmering orbs of magic. Placing Death Penalty's sight on the leader, he sent a thread of magic into the gun, discharging the spell sealed within the hidden Materia. "Leave me alone." A ring of hot, white fire surrounded their leader, and the people nearby leapt back as immeasurable heat suddenly poured forth from that circular column of fire. Their eyes widened as the same white-hot arcs circled them, almost as if snaring them.

"Holy sh-" The flames took them then, engulfing them in Ifrit's fire and spewing them backwards in disgust. They lay quivering in the evening dirt, specters of fire licking at their clothes, burns covering their legs, and sickening bubbles slowly receding back into their super-heated skin.

Giving the powerless group one more nonchalant, assessing glance, the dark man turned and continued on his way, making his way through the town-turned-city and toward the nearby sea.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter One: Rude Awakening

"_Death... Dying... shouldn't be this hard... This pain... straight through the heart... How many times do I have to savor it?"  
- Eiku Shizuma_

* * *

Lingering memories stung at the back of his eyes like salt water, causing unwanted tears to trickle through his eyelids. He thought he'd buried them long ago, but apparently not even eternal, forgotten nights were enough to rid him of... himself. One remnant slipped through and carried with it the many others, and soon he drowned in them again. Flickers of blonde hair, burgundy eyes, mechanical arms, cigarette butts, fiery tails, giant moogles and spinning shuriken darted through his dark world, torturing him with their scents and sounds and touches, the last more so than all others.

Memories of joy filled him for a moment, but another, less faint shard of memory coldly knifed to the forefront of his imagination and sliced through them. And him, as well. The dark nightmare contracted his shoulder, splitting the shoulder blade in two, twisting in place to grind into it, sending lances of fire through his nerves. The stale, musty air that he'd been breathing in sleep for eternities upon eternities suddenly left him as his heart contracted spasmodically. A hazy red filled his vision, and he felt a scream touching at the tip of his tongue. The pain dove sharply to the right, nearly separating his arm from the rest of his body. The shriek of pain tumbled through his lungs, clawing to escape...

"**AAAAAAAAAARRRGGH!!"**

* * *

A golden arm lashed out from the insides of the coffin, crashing through the wood and grasping the vulnerable neck on the other side. An agonized scream ripped from the confines of the coffin, its recently awakened occupant leaping out in feral rage and pain. "Jesus Christ! What the hell!?" yelled a sweaty construction worker as he caught a glimpse of flowing crimson cape. In an instant, the creature had pinned his comrade to the dusty ground, the dark golden fingers of its left arm threatening to pierce the man's throat.

"Oh, God! Help! Someone, help m-"

"SHUT UP!" the monster hissed, hefting the large man easily and tossing him aside. The man ran into a bulldozer and fell to the ground like a rag doll. "Aaagh!" The monster in red wrenched the shovel from its right shoulder and slumped to the ground, cradling its nearly severed limb. A thick liquid poured from its open, gaping wound, but it seemed to blend into the maroon cape as if the two couldn't be differentiated.

A large crowd of workers formed a large circle around the monstrosity, none wanting to try their luck against the creature. In the distance, the sound of sirens and security measures created an uneasy background noise. Their eyes were all trained on the mysterious and obviously menacing demon in the middle of the courtyard. Despite the large gash splitting its arm from its shoulder, however, it didn't show any more visible signs of anguish. The profuse outpouring of blood had already decreased to a slight trickle. Its discarded coffin lay to the side, an aura of impenetrable evil surrounding it.

The red creature lifted its head up. With its crimson eyes, it bore holes into each and every worker looking back at it. Then it scanned beyond them, and seemed to widen in shock.

And suddenly, it lunged.

* * *

Vincent pinned one man next to the dirty yellow bulldozer, his yellow claw clutching the man's neck and sinking its digits into the machine's metal. "WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS MANSION!?"

"It, uh..."

"WHAT HAPPENED!!" His golden arm swept off the man's neck, landed a punch on his cheek, and reclaimed its grip before the man could start to fall.

"Ugh! I-it was getting taken down! W-we were just called in to demolish it, that's all, honest!" The man was managing to press himself closer to the large machine despite the fact that he was a foot off the ground. Vincent loosened his grip on the man slightly, allowing at least some room for the unfortunate person to breathe.

"What day is it?" he snarled, eyes swiveling wildly in animalistic rage, taking in all the action surrounding them. Men were beginning to sneak up on him with shovels and/or other rather dangerous construction equipment. A squad of odd-looking police cars was surrounding all the common escape routes, but they wouldn't be any problem. He could escape in any way he wanted to. Not that he wanted to escape yet.

"Uh, uh..." The man helplessly struggled against his grip, eyes locked on the golden claw.

"WHAT **DAY** IS IT!!" His fingers sunk in a bit deeper, and the man started turning blue._ Let him choke on his disturbance! They should've known better than to disturb my sleep._

The worker frightfully gasped in a breath. "A-A-April tw-twenty-f-f-first." When Vincent's claw still hadn't retracted, the man continued. "S-s-s-seventy f-f-fifty-two... Please, please, dear God, let me go, please..!" The man's feeble pleas struck Vincent's deaf ears. His eyes widened slightly, and he found himself suddenly lost in the past. _7052... Fifty years..._ The pain in his right shoulder disappeared, the construction workers and giant machines disappeared, the sirens disappeared, everything surrounding him disappeared into a muddy, distorted background. _Fifty years..._

His arm lost its strength and the man crawled free, scrambling away to safety. Vincent didn't give chase; he'd gotten what he'd needed.

"H-hold it!" A group of men, all attired in matching blue uniforms, surrounded him, their large rifles trained unsteadily on the newly awakened man, trigger fingers twitching. Vincent gazed at them as if just noticing them. His eyes no longer sparkled with that murderous intent just moments before; in contrast, they glowed with a subdued appearance, softly reflective and unsteady, surprised. "P-put your arms-" they began, stopping when they noticed his horribly severed right shoulder. "P-put your left arm in the air! Now!"

He brought his claw up and pressed his nearly dismembered shoulder together, gasping as a new shock of pain went through his system. Letting a low growl issue from the back of his throat, Vincent turned around, measuring the distance to the top of the bulldozer. "Leave me alone," he replied evenly.

Then he became nothing more than a red blur, and soon he was sailing above the heavy machine. A hail of bullets gouged deep holes in the steel alloy only seconds later, but by then he was already gone.

* * *

Nanaki was dreaming. And it was a very nice dream. It was a dream in which nothing could go wrong. It was a perfect world, and he knew that no such world existed, but he still enjoyed it for what it was: lilting songbirds squawked effortlessly, streams gushed with life and food, and fleas, the bane of his existence, ceased to exist. He raced up a tree and snatched a luscious and fat bird by its feathers to drag it to be his next meal. Nearby, the river ran overflowing with large, three-foot long carp, which incidentally caused them to flop up onto the richly colored blades of grass, inviting him to get his share of white meat. Ah, yes, this dream was a good one.

He was just about to slam the bird's neck against the mighty oak tree he had just transcended when a speeding projectile suddenly snatched it from his maw. Growling in both surprise and disappointment, the beast looked to the source of his absent meal. His eyes widened at the sight, and his fur immediately stood on end as if struck by lightning.

Chaos stood before him, its slit, cat-like crimson eyes stabbing into him. The giant demon floated effortlessly above the grass, its equally large wings barely causing a ripple in the air; the earth beneath it, previously adorned with lush grass and sun-colored dandelions, was shriveled and brown. Nanaki shivered, the creature unnerving him with its intense stare and decidedly malicious grin. He'd always been wary of Vincent's transformations, and this one was, by far, the most frightening creature he'd ever faced. Not even Sephiroth, in all his unimaginable might, had evoked as much fear in him as Chaos did.

Lifting its right hand, Chaos pointed at Nanaki with jagged, knife-like claws.

"...Lucrecia."

Then darkness swirled around it, and the visage was wrapped in the black envelope, shrinking to become an evanescent point of ebony. Nanaki's hackles slowly began to sink, but they immediately rose again to the sound of a tremor. They failed to provide any support to Nanaki, however, as colossal fissures broke the surface of this serene environment and swallowed the howling dog-creature. He howled in vain, scrabbling at the walls of earth but finding no purchase, and then he felt the earth, his mother earth, squeezing in. Then everything truly went black.

* * *

Struggling fitfully, the old creature abruptly woke, clawing at something invisible, trying to escape the nightmarish walls of the earthquake-induced valley. As realization dawned on him, Nanaki tried to slowly calm his breath, taking a look at the Cosmo Candle to reassure himself that he was truly in the world of the living. The endless flame had never shown itself in his dreams before, so it served as a good reminder of reality. Shaking off the remaining effects of his nap, Nanaki began making his way to the kids' training center.

"And it had been going so well, too," he grumbled under his breath.

* * *

**Chapter One: Rude Awakening END**

A/N: I've removed most author's notes from these early chapters. I've also made general edits throughout the story to fix some continuity errors and plot holes and whatnot.

**Notes:**

Eiku Shizuma – An early character in Hiroaki Samura's _Blade of the Immortal_, one of the best manga to hit this side of the Pacific Ocean.


	2. First Pieces of the Puzzle Named Past

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

The waves gently rocked him up and down, attempting in vain to cast the vile creature off and into the depths of the ocean. Vincent merely nodded his head with each enormous wave, dark bangs obscuring his eyes. Seawater and rain mixed together to bathe him with their stinging touch, feeling more like sharp pebbles striking against his cape than drops of water. His eyes flicked over to the middle of the deck, where a young sailor, barely twenty, was slowly making his way over to him.

"Gomen nasai, okyaku-sama. Would you like to come in? It can't be healthy out here an'all," the boy replied in a mix of Wutainese and Midgard – he knew that the honorifics of the small country were hard to completely erase – holding a lantern in one hand and draping a cloth over himself with another. Vincent simply shook his head, opting to say nothing. "Now, don't be like that, okyaku-sama. There's more than enough room below deck. C'mon, the rain's coming down pretty hard." Vincent shook his head again.

"No. Thank you," he replied. When he saw the boy was still not going to leave, he answered, "The rain doesn't bother me." His crimson eyes locked onto the boy, and he could see him shiver slightly from his gaze.

"You sure, okyaku-sama?" The boy seemed hesitant to go back to his shelter, but Vincent nodded. "Well, alright, then. But if you feel like it, you're welcome any time you like." Vincent nodded once more to acknowledge him.

The footsteps slipped into the darkness, but it was only after the loud creak of the cabin door closing that Vincent let down his senses.

Giving one last look around, the gunslinger closed his eyes and slept, reliving the memories of half a century past in his dreams.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Two: First Piece of the Puzzle Named Past

_Some things are lost, some left behind  
Some things are better left for someone else to find  
Maybe in time I can finally see  
I just wonder, wonder if you think about me  
-Uncle Kracker, _In A Little While

* * *

The dangerous, jutting pillars of the Wutai Mountains didn't seem nearly as threatening to Vincent as they had before his long slumber. Before, he'd had to constantly keep his guard up – on one of his most dangerous journeys through these mountains, he'd had to shoot down an avalanche of boulders while his leg was caught on a rope that had earlier been part of a rickety bridge, all with hordes of vulture-like birds sweeping at him as they flew by, and it had only gotten worse when said rope scraped across sharp, needle-like rocks that tore more and more of its stringy material off. Now, however, all he apparently had to do was make his way across a sturdy, cement-laden, steel enforced, pillar-riding highway bridge that stretched across a steep canyon. Everything from the twenty-meter thick highway to the five-meter high fences strung around the top with barbed wire screamed safety and security.

The fact that the mountains were no longer there helped matters a lot, too.

_What's happening in this time? First Nibelheim, then Rocket Town, and now Wutai?_ Thousands of questions emerged from his head, dancing randomly like nymphs in a fiery field of golden barley. It took a great amount of effort to not jump at a single one; he had to carefully choose what he did first. A plan was always something that made completing a task easier-

_C'mon, Vinnie, what's taking so long!?_

_These things need to be planned, Yuffie. A plan always makes these tasks easier._

_Yeah, yeah, I know. But, I mean, it's... it's just a swing set! Look... there! Ta-da! I just made the support beams!_

_Yuffie. You don't even know WHERE that thing is going._

_Gawd, Vinnie, you don't have to act all stiff like that! Okay, we put it here, we put it there, we put it somewhere. We'll find room when we get to it._

_Yuffie. Where are you building it? What are you using? How long will it take? If you want to get it done, there's no way you can do it without-_

_Aaaargh! Okay, have you ever thought about it like this? What if it DOESN'T need to be built anywhere in particular? Maybe it doesn't MATTER what we use! Who cares how long it takes? The point is, Vinnie, that it's not the final product that matters, it's what happens in between that makes it all worthwhile._

_...That's what we should be planning for-_

_Baka! Vincent no BAKA! BAKA! BAKA BAKA BAKA! ...Vinnie, I'm not TALKING about the PLANS! I'm TALKING about the MEMORIES! The EXPERIENCE! GEEZ, are you really that thick-headed!? God, sometimes I wonder why I even-_

"Sir!? Hey, are you listening to me!?" Vincent snapped out of his momentary daze, having the humility to look slightly embarrassed. He took a look around himself, noticing with surprise that he'd already reached the base of the bridge. A black-clad officer was blocking his way, backed by a partner and a long bar stretching across half of the thirty-meter wide expanse, meeting its twin at the center.

"E-excuse me," Vincent replied, shaking himself. _Stuttering?_ he said to himself, a small part of himself very slightly amused. "What did you say?" he asked the officer after regaining his composure.

"I said that you need to pay a toll to cross this bridge. This marks the state border between South and North Wutai. It's not a free trip, sir. Three hundred G's." The policeman pointed behind Vincent, indicating a yellow toll booth with the words "200 G to Pass; Welcome to Wutai" written on its side. Vincent frowned at the prospect of paying three hundred Gil simply to cross over to Wutai. Nevertheless, he reached down to his hip and pulled out a fat wallet of money. He eyed the officer warily as his eyes fell to the set of Materia on Vincent's hip and rifle. The man instinctively placed his hand near his own firearm, a mixture of desire, agitation, anxiousness, and excitement lighting his eyes.

"The sign says two hundred," Vincent pointed out, taking out two of the smallest bills in his bag.

"Oh, the extra hundred's for the survival gear that we have to provide those making the trip on foot. I'm sorry, sir. It's the law; I can't make any exceptions." He was about to turn to the machine when the policemen took a look at his bills and immediately cut him off, snickering in his attempt to hold back laughter. "Excuse me, sir, but what are those?"

"Three hundred Gil, as you asked."

"Th-Three hundred GIL? U-uh, sir..." He held up a hand to pardon himself as let out a long belt of laughter. "Brock, get a load of this guy! Man, oh man, where've YOU been, pal!?" he wheezed, his other hand now on his knees to keep himself from falling over. Behind him, the other officer also laughed to himself, though he tried hard to not make it obvious. Vincent looked at the pair with unflinching eyes, unable to see the humor in this situation. After their hysteria had died down, the bawling guard replied, "Um, sir, uh... Hahahah... I-I'm really sorry, I've just never experienced this before. Gil haven't been – Gil, hah! – they haven't been used for over three decades now. They've depreciated so much that you don't even SEE 'em nowadays! I think the exchange rate was— Hey, Brock, d'you remember what it was? Way back in 7020 or so?"

"I... I dunno, I think it was somewhere around one G to one thousand Gil."

"Something like that?"

"Yeah, why not? Either way, it was abysmal. Hell, that was way back when I was still a kid!"

"Got that right." Turning back to Vincent, he replied, "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't take that money. It's not acceptable anymore."

Vincent considered this for a moment – he could easily make it across without paying the toll – then nodded politely before making his way back to the small port town that people had called Kantai Port.

_And here I was with everything planned out._ His thoughts went back to that distant memory again. _Well, Yuffie, it seems your astounding logic will work again._

* * *

**Interlude – Moving On, New Reasons**

_What now?_ Vincent fired once again at a falling boulder, blowing it into little more than pebbles and dust. He scanned the surroundings for any possible escape routes. His back was pressed against a granite wall that had formed from the rockslide. It was too big for him to shoot through; the shrapnel would have nowhere to go except into him. Beyond the wall and over all the noise of crashing rocks, he could faintly make out the sound of the Highwind pushing out of the large cavern. He was surprised the thing had even come.

As for him, he was cut off. The rest of the group was most likely on their way out of there already. _Hm, Vincent. You're stuck in a crumbling cave with little chance of survival. No one would even entertain the idea of your making it out of here alive._ No. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Not until he found out what had happened to her.

Another rock fell and he fired at it, ducking his head as the debris fell into his hair. A rumble shook the small, claustrophobic hole he was in; a tremor dislocated a group of rocks, revealing a narrow passageway. As he peered deep inside it, he could see a faint, pulsing white-green light, and at first he took it to be Mako before realizing that it was actually something much greater. "Holy," he whispered, making his way to the light. The quakes grew increasingly stronger, and the gunslinger found himself with weak footing at the best of times. This, coupled with the falling rocks overhead, made the trip toward the exit that much harder.

_Faster, Vincent! Faster, now!_ his mind screamed to him, after an especially rough shake caused the earth to split under his feet. He bolted with a mad frenzy, the low reflection of the light from his eyes on the dark rocks turning a shade darker as he felt determination blooming in him. He placed the Death Penalty back in its holster, quickly securing the large rifle. He didn't need it now. He needed to run like his life depended on it, and for the umpteenth time in his life, he found that his life DID depend on it. And he'd be damned if he got done in by some mundane cave-in. All he saw was the end of the hall, his one possible hope for seeing Lucrecia's cave again.

The light from Holy dimmed a bit, and he immediately understood why: the exit was closing. The rocks cracked and tumbled down one after another, leaving less and less light to shine through. _No,_ he thought, _it will not end this way!_ A sharp pebble suddenly struck his forehead, causing him to wince and stumble. _No, damn it!_ With great effort, he pushed the pain to the side and rolled the final two feet to the exit. Slabs of granite and limestone crashed all around him, and he shut his eyes quickly to keep out the invading dust.

Sloppily, he stumbled through the other side. The avalanche of stones ceased suddenly, as if they'd only been a nightmare he just awoke from. Taking in deep breaths of the dusty, stale air, he reached up to wipe a small stream of blood that had streamed over his eye from the cut the small rock had caused. _Thank Jesus, Shiva, Quetzacotl, and any other gods out there,_ he said to himself as he wiped the blood on his pants. There was a loud ringing in his ears, and he shook his head to clear it.

Shhh...

Through the foggy blur of leftover sounds, he faintly made out something coming from above. _What the-_ Another slab suddenly struck him in the back of his head, sending sharp lines of pain to creep down his spine and causing large black spots to cover his vision, nearly cutting off his sight. Without thinking, he bolted further into the room. A quick instant later, stalactites tore into the spot he'd previously occupied, digging deep into the earth. Vincent let out a grunt of pain and grasped his head. _Gods, had Sephiroth hurt this much?_ he wondered to himself. His normal fingers felt the top of his head. He felt only smooth skin, his own raven hair, and thick, clotting blood. But that wasn't supposed to be...

Despite all of his senses going haywire, he whipped around and scanned the ground. No, it wasn't there. Had that rock...? _No...! It can't be!_ "No!" He started for the pile of rubble, but another fresh tremor starting making itself known. "Damn it!" he cried out, taking another hesitant step towards the broken rocks. With an effort he didn't think he'd have, the gunslinger turned from the closed entrance and made his way through the small cave.

The rest of the escapade went by in a haze of anger, sorrow, and mixed determination. As he finally made his way out of the deep confines of the Northern Crater, Vincent scanned the skies for signs of the Highwind. Just then, Holy finally broke free of its binds and a giant column of white energy blew out from below him, sending him spiraling up hundreds of feet. As he righted himself in the air, he saw a large mass of metal and bolts tumbling through Holy, not more than ten meters from him. _The Highwind!_ he realized with dread. The ship was being torn apart. And it didn't seem like it would escape from the forces acting against it.

Pieces of rock and metal passed by him, and he leapt off one, making his way to the Highwind. As the bridge of the ship passed by, he could see the rest of the crew gasping in surprise. Without a word, he propelled himself into a side window, and as he crashed through, he felt the glass slicing into his face and right arm. The back of the bridge slammed into him like a freight train – his first impressions were that of a brick wall, but he knew a brick wall wasn't as punishing as this massive sheet of metal – knocking a few bones out of place and breaking some others. He cried out in pain and clutched at his broken ribs with his dislocated arm. His vision was completely black now, but he heard Cid saying something. At least he thought he did. As if on its own, his claw sunk into the floor of the ship – or was it the side now? He couldn't be sure – just as Cid pulled the one handle that set the ship loose and saved them from Holy's eruption.

* * *

Vincent sat at the back of the ship, in the same area he'd been thrown into, clutching his ribs and tipping his head back to suck in some badly-needed air. Saying he was in unbearably tormented pain was an understatement. Treading into the center of the Planet, fighting Jenova and Sephiroth, treading back OUT of the center of the Planet, being whipped at least a thousand feet into the air by Holy, smashing through the glass window of the Highwind, and slamming into its metal walls at an excess speed... it was certainly a candidate for that dubious honor.

Gingerly, the gunslinger brought his hand up once more to his forehead. Nothing there now but smooth skin. _Damn it,_ he said again for what he felt had been the hundredth time in the past few minutes. He dropped his hand to his side and immediately regretted it. Apparently, it wasn't done healing just yet. _Forget it, Vincent. The bandanna's gone now. Don't bother fretting over it,_ a voice said to him, and he had a suspicion that it was his reasoning, tactical mind at work. He agreed wholeheartedly with it.

He opened his eyes and looked at the others. They were all crowded around the front of the bridge, looking at the destruction Midgar was going through. He felt compelled to join them, but the gentle aching in his... well, in his entire body was compelling him otherwise. He knew what would happen, anyway.

Vincent let his eyes droop, and in that half-state between vision and non-vision, he thought he could make out a scent. It wasn't a scent, though, more of a... a feeling. A presence. Something that had not been there before stood in front of him, but he couldn't be sure if it was there, if SHE was there, because he knew somehow that if he either opened his eyes or closed them, he would lose his focus on her. If it was her at all.

He thought he half-saw a pink dress, he thought he half-smelled flowers, and he thought he half-heard her words to him.

"I..." he mumbled to no one in particular, because she wasn't really there, but the memory of her lingered. "I would have... considered you a friend, Aeris." Then his eyes closed, and as he had known, she – no, not she, because it wasn't her, it was nothing but a feeling he had – disappeared into a calm black oblivion, leaving him to sleep gently and peacefully while the purification of the world continued outside.

* * *

**Forward, to Another Time**

Kantai Port was already bustling with activity by the time Vincent returned to it. Noon was still a good four hours away; despite that, people were rushing to and from the various transport ships that had docked there while he'd been gone.

Rubbing his bruise gently, the gunslinger's Mako-red eyes scanned the docks for a certain fishing ship. He caught it almost instantly; the tiny boat stood out against its hulking industrial-sized counterparts much like a white dot on a large black paper. Its mast barely scaled the deck of the larger craft stationed next to it, but from where he was it was still visible.

Vincent made his way through the thick crowd, taking pains to keep his claw arm from puncturing some innocent pedestrian's stomach. People here didn't seem as frightened of him as he'd thought – then again, they were a port town. They'd probably already seen all there was to see. Still, they gave him a small amount of space to move freely.

Various people bumped into him as they rushed by, knocking into his still-aching shoulder. He grunted every time; their collisions would cause a giant burn to fly up his body. Even for him, an immortal demon in the body of a human, a dismembered arm was going to take a while to heal.

Many people took great interest in the Materia he wore around his waist. The souls inside the orbs captured the sunlight and bent it at different angles, creating a slightly surreal light show. The pedestrians that passed him gave them a decidedly greedy look, but he ushered them away with a flick of his right hand, revealing the Death Penalty's imposing presence and the wickedly sharp blade at the tip of its barrel.

* * *

Nuboko was just getting ready to load a sizeable harpoon back into the spear gun when the strange vagrant got back. "Excuse me," he replied, and Nuboko nearly leapt out of his pants; he hadn't even heard the caped man walking, even though the plank leading up to the deck of his fishing boat was badly warped.

"U-uh, no, gomen nasai. I, uh... I didn't notice you there. I see you're back. Ran into some trouble trying to get to Wutai, no doubt?" He wiped his greasy hands on his equally greasy rag and took a small glance at the gunslinger as he did so. The man was wearing a ragged, torn red cape that fell down to his knees and was clinched to his black polyester jacket at the collarbones. His jumpsuit had numerous small tears here and there, though it still seemed to be able to function efficiently. His sleeves were rolled up to his biceps, and Nuboko quickly realized why: His left arm was no arm at all.

At least not a human one. Its golden surface shone with an almost inner radiance, the claws trying futilely to hide their sharp edges that were stained a nearly imperceptible bronze-red hue. The soles of his boots mimicked this look, though they seemed to be more a decorative or combative frill of the boots than his body.

The wind blew a soft breeze, lifting the traveler's cloak up and revealing a rifle and a handgun on opposite sides of his hips. Both were slung on his belt from two rawhide holsters, the large, imposing rifle placed on the back of his right hip and the pistol hanging off his left thigh. Nuboko could also see a small bulge where his left pants leg and boot met, where the apparent gunslinger most likely stashed another firearm.

Nuboko looked back again and went to shake his hand, being mindful to raise his non-dominant right hand out so as not to suffer any serious puncture wounds.

Another salty wind came into the dock, allowing Nuboko a view of the man's crimson eyes through his billowing hair. What shocked him, though, was not the fact that they were the color of blood, or even that they were glowing.

The gunslinger was wearing a headband. The front of it was encased in steel, and on the steel was pressed a symbol.

It was the royal symbol of Wutai.

* * *

"Something like that. I want to know if I can borrow this ship," Vincent asked the fisherman, gingerly grasping the offered hand. _A lefty,_ he thought to himself. "I need to make a trip." The young man was well-built, and he wore a seemingly-tattered blue jacket that was unseasonable for this time of the year. The large jacket was unzipped, revealing a sea-blue shirt with white seagulls patterned across it. A pair of dark blue jean shorts stretched down past his knees. It was held to his waist by a dark brown leather belt.

Everything on him seemed to like the color blue, and his eyes were no different. They were the color of diamonds and seemed to encase their own oceans.

The man, however, didn't seem to be looking at him. He looked at him, for sure, but not AT him. His attention was focused on the green-black headband he wore. _The one Yuffie gave me._ He squeezed a bit tighter on the fisherman's hand to bring him back to reality.

"Uh, uh, um... Oh, geez, g-gomen nasai, ganman-san. Must have zoned off a bit there. My apologies." He went back to his harpoon and checked it once more before turning to consider Vincent's request. "This is certainly out of the blue, ganman-san. My next destination is Kazim, in the Mideel Islands. You'd be welcome to come along, so long as you bring your own provisions." He looked deep into Vincent's eyes. "I'm guessing that's not where you're headed, though." Vincent noted the intensity of the man's stare, as if he were seeing the truth in the gunslinger's blood-ruby orbs of light. It must've hurt the sailor, because he winced after a second or two.

"You guess correctly, kaiin-san," Vincent replied, adopting the tongue of a language he hadn't expected to hear again. _This man is Wutainese._

Nuboko sighed. "Well, ganman-san, I'm afraid I can't help you there. I've got too much stuff to do at the moment. Gomen nasai."

Vincent nodded and turned to leave. "Very well. Domo arigatou gozaimasu." He was almost back on the dock before Nuboko hailed him a final time.

The fisherman held up a folded piece of paper. "If you're doing what I think you're gonna do, ganman-san, then you'd better take this with you. Good luck. I think you're going to need it." Vincent grabbed the parchment out of the air and nodded his thanks. Then he made down the plank.

_I hope you're wrong, kaiin-san._

* * *

Nuboko sat staring into his harpoon with little interest, his eyes gazing at some invisible speck of dust on the polished steel rod. He was trying to gather the entirety of his encounter with the lost gunslinger, but the memories seemed to be as elusive and invisible as the man himself; they would weave in and out of his mind's eye like little specters.

_There's something about him... everything about him just seems... off._ The Wutai symbol on his head was definitely of interest. Only the ruler of Wutai had that type of headband. _Yeah, and even _she's_ just a stupid tourist attraction now, ain't she?_ He snickered at the thought. _But who the hell is this guy?_ Clutching the finally-loaded harpoon gun, the fisherman made his way back up the deck of his boat to complete the rest of his preparations.

"Hey, Tae-Yong!" he shouted. "Get the rest of the guys ready! We're leaving in an hour!"

* * *

Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air all around her, as if some ominous gas had drifted into her city. Slowly opening her burgundy eyes, the empress let her breath out in a long, even sigh. A cloud of warm, moist air came from her mouth and she shuddered as physical feeling came back to her limbs and the icy chilled atmosphere made itself known to her senses.

Slowly, gently, she got to her feet, her lavish kimono rustling lightly as it was disturbed after a long period of slumber. The room she was in almost resembled a dojo, if it were not for the cold mist drifting along its bottom. A family altar stood to one side, the pictures of her ancestors blotted and glazed over with frost. Behind her, the entrance to this room was slightly ajar, letting in a small trail of light to illuminate the room.

The empress brought her hands to her sides and smoothed the dress down before turning around. Taking in another slow, steady breath, she exited the room. As she closed the sliding door, she took one final look at the altar, then shuddered when she saw the two faintly pulsing red eyes hidden in its shadows.

* * *

_Prairie grass... prairie grass... more prairie grass._ Vincent felt such a long nostalgic yearning that he almost had to shake himself from taking a trip back to the past. It wouldn't be good to dwell on the past too much. He'd learned that once already. _Before, this area used to be nothing but dense, vine-filled forests that could kill a normal human in less than a day. Now, it's been whittled down to an uncultivated farmland._ He'd heard something once, something that Tifa had read: "...the world has moved on since then." He considered it deeply. _Yes, the world HAS moved on._ The gunslinger took one last look at the outskirts of Kantai before stepping into the wild-but-tamed fields.

As if without a thought, his hand went up to grasp the green bandanna. The young sailor had been staring at it. _Could it be...? _He pulled the garment off, spilling his jet-black hair as he did so, and stared into the emblem pressed into its metal surface. _The symbol of Wutai... I saw something in his eyes. What happened over there?_ He put Yuffie's headband back on and started out over the prairies.

* * *

Rocket Town had once been a slightly dusty ghost town. The soil was a mottled, red-brown clay color due to the large amounts of pollutants that had seeped into it from the various tests Shinra had performed in their rocket experiments. Now, fifty years later, it would've returned to a rich dark brown with sprouts of lush green grass growing from it, had it not been for the recent renovations that had covered it. The sides of the streets were filled with cement sidewalks, the streets were made out of large cobblestones, and in the center of town stood a large fountain statue of Shiva, the Ice Goddess. The town itself had expanded so much that it could no longer truly be considered a 'town' – its outskirts now came within fifty kilometers of the Nibel Mountains. The only place where one could see the true color of the Rocket Town soil was in the deepest parts of the fields that surrounded it, now reduced to a small sliver outlining the mountains and ocean.

In the original part of town, a red beast was walking through the streets, the feather in the mane on top of its head waving in the breeze that drifted in from the ocean.

Small fingers reached out to grasp at the creature known as Nanaki, but they were stopped before they could ruffle a single hair on his body. Eyes peered at him from all around, but those eyes seemed to be confused between anxiety and curiosity, for they would always glance at him more than once as they passed. Feet padded out of his direction, as if afraid of the things he was capable of doing.

Nanaki snorted to himself. _Humans. A few decades ago they could be as majestic and awe-inspiring as the WEAPONs. Now I barely have the strength to stand them. _He stopped the train of thought he was on. It would not be of much worth to reflect upon the state of the world. There was little enough he could do to protect it; reminding himself of that fact would only serve to pour salt on his wounds.

The citizens of Rocket Town stood on the sides of the streets, whispering gently into each others' ears. Nanaki closed his one good eye briefly and listened to the mumbled garbage of gossip that passed from mouth to ear.

"...and Shera saw Lina kissing Mandy while they were BOTH out on..."

"...out! I got myself a fiver-finger discount..."

"...that idiot son of mine..."

"...impossible! Lina isn't a..."

"...that gunslinger? The one who..."

"...that dog's tail is burning..."

"...quiet, moron, they might..."

"...apples look like crap..."

"...no, it's just a trick of the light..."

"...mention him, he's trouble..."

He took in a sharp breath and nearly did so loud enough to alert the citizens. _Gunslinger? ...after all that's happened in Nibelheim, I wouldn't be surprised. But if he really is awake..._ The dog-like creature almost shivered with a giddy, overwhelming sense of purpose, something he hadn't felt in the longest time. Closing his eye again, the animal listened once more on the denizens' conversations; it was hard, as he had to stop the urge to bolt and start searching the entire continent of Corel for the lost gunslinger.

"...those thugs are gone..."

"...eat my shorts..."

"...that magic..."

"...nah, they're still here..."

"...leg's working up again..."

"...heard that it was a high level..."

"...claws look sharp..."

"...bronco house..."

"...really?"

"...again, you old geezer..."

The mottled voices filtered themselves in his head, and Nanaki grinned to himself, padding casually to the "bronco house". _If Cid were still here, he would've driven the Highwind over these thugs before letting them in his house._ Taking the time to yawn and stretch out his back, Nanaki sat patiently at the door of the house, tail flicking lightly from side to side as if of its own accord.

Clearing his mouth, the beast scratched on the door that he knew led into a dining room. "Ahem. Excuse me!" he said, taking a few steps back. A slit opened in the door and a pair of eyes looked out. From the look of it, there were some nasty burns surrounding them. _Ah. He went easy on them. Never had much patience, did he?_ He chuckled.

"...yeah? Wh-who is- the hell? Get lost, you stupid dog! Aack! Hauuuk! ...Ugh, your owner's a fuckin' shit if he thinks I'M gonna take a fuckin' animal like you!" The thug had a weak, raspy voice, but he still managed to sound awfully nasty. The board behind the door slammed into place, hiding that badly burned face.

_Yes, the world definitely HAS changed,_ Nanaki thought to himself, sighing in agitation. He bunched the muscles in his hind legs and sunk low to the ground. He hadn't used this move in over fifty years, and it felt good to do it again. _Some things, however, never change._

* * *

The door fragmented into a thousand shreds before he had even touched it. The burnt man that was still hobbling away from said torn door was mowed down an instant later. Nanaki let out a howl that echoed through the house, awakening its injured and humiliated residents. "I need to know something," he said in a calm yet booming voice, "and you are going to answer me."

The silence afterwards was very anticlimactic. For all he was expecting, Nanaki was actually a bit disappointed.

After a few minutes, he could finally see a few shadows slowly inching toward the door that led to the bedroom on the right. "W-w-who is it? Fucker better not come here or we'll-" His words were cut off by a painful-sounding chain of coughs. "...we can burn your sorry little ass quicker than you could say-" His words were cut off again, but instead of a coughing fit, the large dog-creature had let out another howl and continued until the gang members in the next room all shushed, as if realizing that they'd be better off just letting him speak.

Nanaki coughed lightly to himself. "Well, now that I have your attention, I'll be brief. The gunslinger that attacked you a while back – which way did he go?"

"What the hell makes you think we'll tell you anything!?" one of them shouted. Nanaki looked at the sliver of light coming from below the door. Muffled shadows flirted in and out of the light, letting him know that there were at least four men in that room. He had to be a bit cautious about the other room. And who knew how many people were in the kitchen?

"Sir, I tore through your front door and rendered unconscious one of your colleagues. I could do the same to the rest of you if I so chose. Now, I ask again: where did the gunslinger go?"

From behind the door, he could hear them gritting their teeth in hesitant consideration. Finally, someone finally cracked it open and asked, "W-what's your name?"

"My name doesn't matter. Answer me and I'll leave with no further injury to you or your fellow comrades." He gently nudged the prone form under him out of the way to prove his point.

"A-a-alright..." He paused, as if rethinking his decision, then continued, "We sent a scout to follow him. Last we heard, h-he was on a ship headed t-towards Kunai... Kanto... Kyoto... Kantai... Kantai! Y-yeah, that's it, Kantai Port! In the Wutai Isla-"

"Thank you for your assistance," he interrupted, turning swiftly and exiting the house. "Oh, and one more thing," he said just before exiting. "Leave this house."

* * *

"...this wouldn't have anything to do with that gunslinger, would it?" Nuboko said into the speaker, one hand fiddling with the transmitter clinging to the fabric of his jacket. The voice from the other side faded a little bit as a wave rocked the boat, but the connection was still good.

"You know about him?" the gruff voice of Nanaki said.

Nuboko nodded out of force of habit; no one was present to see his action. "Yeah. He came to me, asking for a ride to Wutai."

"And you turned him down, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Let me guess – you're looking for him." It wasn't a question. _Agh. Damn it all. If only I knew this was gonna happen._

"Yes, young Nuboko."

"Ah, god damn it all, ojiisan. If only I'd known earlier-"

"It's okay, Nuboko. Now, about my request..."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I just exited the dock. I can take you there." Under his breath, he said, "...damn old dog."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Give me a few hours?"

"Of course. Take your time... Hold on a minute. Cirrus and Ruana are here."

"The little kaiju? Why're they with you?" Nuboko turned the wheel he was holding two arm-lengths to the left. "Why didn't you leave them in Cosmo Canyon, Gramps?"

There was a sound that sounded like a struggle on the other end of the line, and a female voice answered, "'Little kaiju,' Nuboko? We're only a year younger than you, so shut up."

"Okay, Miss Ruana Strife. Are you coming with the old dog to Wutai?"

"What do you think? Of course we are." There was a jumbled warble as the microphone on the other end was placed on the ear of Nanaki again.

"Alright, Gramps. See you in Rocket Town."

"Goodbye, Nuboko." There was a click, and the line went dead. Nuboko removed the speaker from his ear and pushed forward on the throttle. _Dammit. If I'd known old Gramps was looking for him, I would've given him a ride._

The boat roared to life, as if finally awakened and eagerly anticipating some action. It sliced through the water easily and made its way to the northwestern tip of Corel.

* * *

There was a small click on Nanaki's end as Nuboko ended the conversation. The dog creature sighed to himself. "You know, kids, young Nuboko has a point."

The young woman standing behind him shook her head, causing her long mane of jet-black hair to swirl around her. She quickly reached up and tied them down with a dark hair tie. "Don't worry, Gramps. We can take care of ourselves, thank you very much. Besides, Mom and Dad didn't want us to jus stay cooped up in the Canyon. I'm sure they told you so." Nanaki grumbled a little acknowledgement at this. "And besides, it'd be really boring with just Nuboko to talk to, wouldn't it?" Nanaki paused for a little bit before nodding reluctantly. "So you see? No harm done."

The dog looked away. "For the moment," he replied, looking again at the large expanse of beach splayed in front of him. Or at least what he could see behind all the wooden planks and steel boats and other sea-faring whatnot. "Remember what I said, though, Ruana – be prepared for anything over there."

Ruana gave off a lightly haughty chuckle. "Come on, Gramps. It's only Wutai. They're a bunch of cavemen. There's noth-"

Nanaki suddenly turned around and fixed her with a glare so intense he saw her leap a little bit. "Ruana, you would do well to stop that train of thought," he said in a deep, commanding voice. There was anger in those words, and he could see that Ruana suddenly regretted what she'd just said. She shrank under that ferocious gaze until he, satisfied that his message had gotten across, nodded slightly and returned to his earlier duty of searching the seaports.

She took in a breath. "S-sorry, grampa. I was out of line there." He nodded his forgiveness. "I forgot about your stories. I apologize." They stood there in silence for a while longer, Ruana hanging her head a little bit as uneasiness crept up on her.

Finally, noticing that she would start back toward town in her anxiety, Nanaki replied, "Soon, you will meet one of my 'stories,' Ruana. And I would advise you not to address Wutai as such in his presence. Understood?" She raised an eyebrow at him. He simply continued to stare at her until she nodded reluctantly, unsurely.

"O...okay, Gramps. I understand."

"Good. Now is Cirrus here yet?"

"Right here, Gramps!" A man shouted, racing up the grassy slopes leading from town with what looked like a heavy bag that clanged with every jump he made. "Got all the things you asked for," he wheezed as he reached them, dropping the bag of metallic items on the earth, panting for breath. The large sword on the small of his back leaned heavily to one side, as if to throw him to the ground. Another slimmer sword hung at the side of his waist. His mane of dirty-blonde hair had a silver sheen to them, as if it'd been glazed over. When he looked up at Nanaki, his dark chocolate eyes were just the slightest bit illuminated. To Nanaki, those eyes reminded him of a SOLDIER, though he was hardly surprised.

Nanaki nodded and looked around. "Alright. Ruana, I think Cirrus has had enough- Cirrus, I thought I told you to leave that at home!" Cirrus smiled at the dog through his spiky blonde locks, a grin plastered to his face.

"Yeah, I know. But Gramps, if what you say is true, then I think we'll need this," he said through calming breaths, tapping the hilt of the long sword with his left hand.

Nanaki eyed the curved sword with obvious disgust, waiting until his eye reflected on the shiny surface of its blade. "You know how I feel about that sword," he said. The smile left Cirrus's face and he made a little whining-grunting sound, turning upright again.

"Come on, Gramps, not this again," he groaned. "Look, I've told you before, the Ma-"

"No, no, Cirrus. I'm not saying you can't bring it. Just remember how I feel about it-" at this Cirrus gave a little, "Kinda hard not to." "-and imagine that feeling magnified ten-fold." The swordsman nodded viciously, as if to hurry the subject along.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry, Gramps, I'll be careful."

"You'd best be." The three looked out toward the dock for a while longer, surveying the declining amount of ships as the sun gradually fell into the ocean. After nearly a half-hour, Nanaki finally said, "It's going to be another couple of hours." Both humans with him let out cries of frustration and headed back to town for a little meal before the trip.

* * *

"_Vincent, you can stay with us if you'd like." Tifa took a step from behind the counter of her bar and grasped his human hand. "It wouldn't be any trouble, I swear." He gave her a small, affectionate smile. She seemed warmed by it and smiled back. He let her hold his hand for a moment longer, then pulled it gently from her._

"_Thank you, Tifa. But there are matters I must attend to first. Once I'm done with what needs to be done, I'll make sure to come back and visit you." His hand came to rest on the butt of his rifle. He looked deeply into her burgundy eyes, saw the tears threatening to breach the surface there, and turned to leave. "I promise to come back."_

_She sniffed quietly behind his back, obviously trying to not let him hear; he heard it easily, as easily as he heard the soft beating of Cloud's heart in the room upstairs. Clearing her throat, the woman said, "Well, will you tell us where you're going, at least?"_

"_...I'm going to Lucrecia's Cavern," Vincent replied after a pause._

_As he neared the door, the beautiful brunette nearly whispered, "No goodbyes, Vincent. Only 'see you later.'" That statement made him smile._

"_See you later, Tifa blood blood Blood Blood BLood BLOod BLOOd BLOOD BLOOD DEATH DEATH DEATH __**YES DEATH DEATH CHAOS CHAOS DESTRUCTION DEATH BLOOD-"**_

* * *

The endless prairie fields collapsed in a giant heap around him, igniting in a large flame, as if they had been lit by Ifrit's fire. The map Nuboko had given him tore down the middle, splitting the newly-landscaped Wutai in half. He keeled over as the sky swirled from a peaceful light blue hue to an ominous purple-red. His eyes squeezed shut as pain shot through his entire body, starting from his hands and knees and shattering up into the blades of his shoulders. For a sickening, frightening moment, he could FEEL Chaos's wings tearing through the thick flesh of his back, as if the demon were inside him somehow, a form imprisoned by his flesh. Another wave of agony racked his body and then he could feel the monstrosity's MIND trying to rip itself from its host. A knife drove deep into his skull, and the blood-red of his eyes flared brightly, shining even through his pale eyelids.

Then the apparition was gone, as if it had quieted down finally. Vincent gasped for breath, resting his head on the damp soil, golden brown grasses caressing him as a wind blew by. The sky overhead returned to its normal color and the sun beat its soft light on him. After a while, he placed a foot on the ground, and opened his eyes.

Chaos was there. Its own eyes flared a ruby red, a mirror of Vincent's own. The gunslinger stumbled back again, this time landing on his butt. He could see Chaos.

And he saw himself.

The sensation threw him off balance, and he quickly placed his hands on the ground to steady himself. He saw himself placing his hands on the ground. Closing his eyes, Vincent calmed himself down a bit. _I'm seeing through its eyes,_ he said to himself, _and I'm seeing through my own, too._ Slowly, he opened his eyes again, feeling the initial sense of vertigo slip away as he grew accustomed to the double vision.

"...Chaos," he replied, somewhat shakily. He made no sudden movements; he would've been struck down by dizziness if he'd rolled two feet to the side.

_**...**_

"Leave me be, demon." Vincent's hand crept to the back of his hip, reaching for the Death Penalty. Of course, it wouldn't help no matter how discreet he was, for the demon saw and thought everything he did.

_**...**_

Chaos floated silently in the air, only gazing down with its piercing ruby eyes. _How did this happen?_ he wondered; Chaos had never asserted any will of its own until now. Vincent hadn't even known it HAD a will. "Move aside," he commanded, getting slowly to his feet.

Just as he took a step, however, the fiend's wings flared open. Its gnarled hand raised and pointed at him, as if accusing him of some ancient crime. _**...Lucrecia,**_ he heard, and detected a hint of... hatred? _**Lucrecia... **_it repeated, as if the name were a chant. _**Lucrecia Lucrecia-**_

"-Shut up, damn you!"

_**-Lucrecia Lucrecia Lucrecia Sephiroth Lucrecia Sephiroth Lucrecia Vincent Sephiroth Sephiroth Vincent Sephiroth Vincent Lucrecia Vincent Sephiroth Jenova Jenova Jenova JEnova JENova JENOva JENOVa JENOVA JENOVA **__**JENOVA!!**_

Suddenly, Chaos let out a hoarse shriek; in it were the rawest senses of rage Vincent had ever heard, and he was chilled to the core of his being. He stumbled back, nearly fell down, and whipped out his rifle. His shoulder cried out in protest at the sudden, hard-pressed movement, but he paid it no heed. "STAND BACK, CHAOS, DEMON OF WHEREVER IT IS YOU COME FROM!" he shouted, but it was a shout made in desperation.

_**JENOVA!**_ Chaos screamed into his head. It suddenly reared back and charged Vincent, shrieking its soul-binding scream. Vincent brought his gun up – a loud crack echoed for miles around – and leapt to the side, but Chaos would not be deterred. It drove into him with so much force that he actually let loose of his weapon, something that he was hard-pressed to do. Seconds later, his vision went blank.

* * *

Hours later, Vincent finally woke up. It was morning, meaning at least half a day had passed from the time he'd been attacked by Chaos to now. _What the hell happened to me?_ Groggily (and painfully), he rose to his feet, clutching at the shoulder he'd injured – it had been the unfortunate victim of much misery in the past few days. A few feet to his left lay the Death Penalty. He went and picked it up. The two halves of the map also lay nearby. He thought about leaving it for a moment, but picked that up as well.

Rotating his shoulder, the gunslinger took a look at his surroundings. _Where am I?_ he asked, taking in the different landscapes. Where before there had been endless sloping prairies, there was now a large expanse of evergreen and deciduous trees to his back, sloping hills of fertile green grassland, and... Wutai.

The realization almost made him jump up in joy. He rushed toward the town, memories of his life there overflowing his confusion over how he somehow bounded half the continent in half a day. He kept up a frantic pace despite the incredible strain it was causing on his lungs. _Wutai!_ he said to himself in wonder. He'd finally reached it!

...the thought made him come to a halt. He'd reached it. And he didn't know what to do. He'd been expecting to travel for a few more days, getting the chance to organize all the things in his head. What was he going to do? Check out the scenery? Visit old memories? What if they weren't there anymore? What if it had been changed, like Rocket Town had? What if-

_Stop it! Stop it now!_ he berated himself. _There's no need for what-ifs._ And it was true. But that still left the question of what he was going to do. _I'll figure it out when I get there._

But did he really want to go there? Did he want to truly go there now, with all his memories and all his experiences? Did he want to go to a place that was fifty years past his time? Or rather, eighty? The questions burned inside him and from them were born the insidious sprouts of doubt, doubts over whether he should have returned, doubts about how he had failed in his past life, doubts about his doubts, doubts over whether he deserved to live.

_But she was buried there._ It seemed to hit him like lightning – one moment it was absent, and the next it was there. Where there had been uncertainty and doubt before, there was now reassurance and resolve. She was buried there. That was all he needed.

* * *

At the southern edge of town, in a large scout tower, Cirrus was officially bored out of his mind. He rolled the handle of his long sword and watched its blade dip up and down.

"_Look for a ruby-eyed man with black hair and a red cape," Gramps says. "If you see him, don't attack him. Tell him that I'll be waiting for him at Yuffie's grave."_

Cirrus shook his head at the memory and hefted the sword.

_It's been two hours and there's STILL been no sign of that guy Gramps was talking about. I should really just go. I wonder if Ruana's still at the other entrance. She's probably already left. Damn it, she's lucky. She gets stuck in the entertainment district while __**I**__ get stuck playing watch-dog in the outskirts._ He was just about to descend the (long) steps down the tower when something caught his vision, coming from the edge of the forest. He squinted and scanned across the grassland, trying to make out whatever it was that had surprised him. There... yes!

He clasped the sword to his side and pulled out a set of binoculars from a backpack sitting to his side. Carefully, the young man scanned the area where the red blur had come from. _Where is he? There!_ "Yes!" he said to himself, placing the binoculars back on the backpack and starting down the (long) set of stairs.

* * *

When Vincent reached the edge of town, a young man was waiting there. _So, he was the one who was looking at me._ Vincent eyed him warily. Something about him looked eerily like...

The man was dressed in an ebony jumpsuit, sleeves hugging his well-muscled biceps. Two equally midnight-black armlets rested on his wrists, a forest-green Materia shining in one of them. A large gray shoulder pad protruded from his left shoulder, stretching down the outside edge of his arm. Large black military pants covered his legs with a dark gray foliage camouflage. His hands were fitted with open-fingered boxing gloves that reminded him of Tifa's gloves, and his feet were donned with a set of military boots. Even his hair had been given a silver sheen, offsetting its natural dirty blonde. He was Sephiroth.

Vincent pulled out his rifle before the man could speak and fit its sight on him before he could blink. He had noticed the long sword at his hip and the other, more familiar one dangling from his back, and he was wary. Only Cloud would have been able to reach him before he fired, but the sight of the Ultima Weapon didn't incline him to take any chances. "Don't speak, you impostor," he commanded. The silver-blonde halted, his mouth still open to speak. "Who are you? And why are you impersonating Sephiroth?"

"Hey, calm down. Nanaki sent me to get you-"

"Answer my question first," Vincent interrupted. The man glared at him angrily, but complied.

"I'm Cirrus Strife. State YOUR name."

"Vincent Valentine. Are you descended from Cloud Strife?"

"Wha- don't you compare me to him again, you hear me!?" The gunslinger's eyebrows creased a bit in thought. _There was loathing in that voice._ Then, as an afterthought, _I went to sleep too soon._

Cirrus seemed to realize who he had just said that to, and his face turned into nice mix of furious resentment and awed fright. "I-I... are you... are you really...?" he started, losing his words as he decided whether or not to continue yelling or apologize for his transgression. Vincent decided for him.

"Why do you wield his sword, Mr. Strife? You do not deserve to touch it with the same arm that wields the Masamune. I should kill you right now," he remarked, leaving much of his intended message out of speech.

The insult triggered a change in Cirrus's eyes, and the swordsman's lips curled into an angry snarl. "Kill ME!? You dare mock the Masamune – MY Masamune – like that!? I should be threatening YOU!" He pointed an accusing finger at Vincent with his right hand, and reached for the long blade with his left. Vincent's eyes dimmed darkly as he entered a cold, unfeeling, demonic state.

In less time than it took him to think it, his finger had grazed the trigger of his rifle and a loud thunderous crack echoed throughout the outskirts of the city. The bladed end of Cirrus' Masamune snapped up, the force of the action stripping it from its sheath. It twirled in the air for a long second before dropping back down to the earth, its smooth surface stabbing into the ground, handle up.

Vincent savored the look on Cirrus's face as he stared, dumbfounded, at his cherished weapon, so easily pried from his grasp. He eyed the smoke trailing from Vincent's rifle, and then to the gunslinger's face. Fear could be seen welling up in the young man's body language, but it was soon replaced with a blinding rage at losing his weapon. Vincent threw the Death Penalty to the side and removed the Quicksilver, as well. He flexed his left arm, bringing it up to his face and clenching his fingers into a fist.

"Your Masamune is a fake. I will prove it to you."

* * *

**Chapter 2: First Piece of the Puzzle Named Past END**

**Notes:**

Wutainese/Midgard – The Wutainese language is a mixture of various real-world languages, most notably Japanese and Hmong. (Later chapters include Chinese and Vietnamese terms, as well.) Midgard is the name I chose for the language that dominates the rest of the world. It is, in almost all respects, English.

Nuboko (Ama-no-nuboko) – The divine spear of the gods; in Japanese lore, it was dipped into the ocean by the two _kami_ Izanagi and Izanami. The broth that dripped from its head became the islands of Japan.

Cirrus, Ruana – Cirrus is a type of cloud. (It connects him with Cloud, y'see?) Ruana is Hindi, and means a "musical instrument." Or at least that's what all those baby name sites would have you believe.


	3. Family Ties, part A

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

"Come on, you two! Stop teasing me!" Two small children, rosy and fat, raced around Ruana's ankles in gay frivolity as the young woman twirled around, her long tumble of hair spinning around her like a thick ribbon. The children leapt up and snapped at it, never quite reaching its height. Store clerks and onlookers smiled and cheered lightly along the sides of the open road, the sight brightening their day.

"Ana! Ana! Wheee!" one of them cried out as she traveled off on a tangent, spinning around and around, mimicking the older woman. The other girl decided to join her. Ruana stopped her own circling and wobbled slightly, nimble legs easily balancing her again. The three females took a quick look at each other while they twirled around and burst out in laughter.

KRA-Thoow-woow-woow-woow...

She snapped up at the sound of the gunshot, her eyebrows tracing its echoes back to the source. _Oh, my god._ Alarm plastered on her face, the woman turned to the two children, who were now wobbling themselves, their not-so-nimble feet teeter tottering back and forth along the cobblestones. "You two get into the shop, quick!" Without looking to see if they'd heard, Ruana rushed over to one of the stone buildings lining the street and grabbed two small, ornately-carved swords. _Cirrus, please be all right._

Breaking into a fast sprint, the young woman worked as she ran – she strapped each sword to her back, one crossing from her right shoulder to her lower back, its handle facing upward, and the other resting horizontally on the small of her back, its handle protruding on her left-hand side. _Cirrus, you'd better be alright!_ The walls of the Wutainese fortress whirled by as she nearly flew on the lush green grasslands. On any other day she would've marveled at the sight of the rolling hills full of long, wavy grasses and how the only thing that separated the leaves of the forest from the grass was a small, thin line of black. Now, however, all that green melted into some weird blur at the side of her vision.

Putting on an extra boost of speed, she made her way to the southwestern entrance, where Cirrus was.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Three: Family Ties, part A

"_Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material."  
-F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

Cirrus, a red haze of anger filling his vision, grasped the hilt of the Masamune; the blade was nearly as long as he was tall with his hands raised. He wrenched the sword from the ground and leveled it at the red gunslinger standing a few yards away. "This sword is NOT a fake," he replied icily, spreading his legs into a wide stance, readying to charge. "I will prove THAT to you."

Across the clearing, Vincent's eyes flared an even brighter red. "Come."

A feral shout escaped the blonde man's mouth as he sprang forward, becoming no more than a blur of black and silver. The large sword over his head, he swept down on the demonic visage...

The gunslinger let out a low growl of his own; it was emotionless, but the inhuman nature of it made Cirrus wince in his charge. Stepping back, Vincent's eyes locked onto the sword that was coming down to take his life. "Your Masamune is false, and you are, too! I will NOT STAND TO HAVE CLOUD'S NAME DESECRATED!" And his arm shot up – almost of its own accord – intercepting the Masamune.

There was a loud creak of metal bending to metal. Cirrus, in his bloodlust state, didn't register it until it was too late. When he could once again see past the red in his vision, Vincent stood next to him, and in his left hand was the tip of the Masamune, bent backward and deformed under his fingers. _He twisted it!?_ was all Cirrus could think before he was viciously knocked to the earth, Vincent's cape swirling above him. _He twisted it! The Masamune! Oh-_

"Aaargh!" The shriek was accompanied by a golden claw. The talons clasped onto the black fabric under his neck and jerked him into the air, his legs dangling two feet off the ground. "HE PROTECTED THE PLANET, DO YOU HEAR ME!? HE **SAVED** THE PLANET!" Vincent suddenly let out a horrendous scream full of fury and sadness and vengeance; he spun and planted a heel in Cirrus' stomach, driving the wind from his body. Cirrus fell back a long ways, and he was thankful that the tumble at least offered him some time to regain his senses before the demon could pounce upon him again. "AND I WILL LET **NO ONE** SAY OTHERWISE!"

Struggling to his feet, he gasped for air and clutched at the handle of the weapon on his back. _He protected the Planet? HE saved the Planet? CLOUD!? _He could feel something pulsing inside of him, some form of energy waiting to be released. "...heheh." The sound was almost inaudible. "...heheheh. Cloud? Saving the PLANET? Heheh. Th-that's funny, man." The giant saber was in his hands now, its ethereal blade burning a bright white. "He did NOTHING! CLOUD DIDN'T DO **ANYTHING** FOR US!"

* * *

Across from him, Vincent's demon eyes widened slightly in shock. The man was crying. "HE DIDN'T DO _**ANYTHING!**_"

Vincent stayed quiet, choosing to communicate with his eyes. His slightly psychotic glare bore deep into Cirrus' own eyes, but the young man held his own fairly well, and even seemed determined to beat it.

An invisible mist swirled around Cirrus; Vincent felt more than saw the energy form into a tight ball inside Cirrus. Rage, fear, confusion, all the senses of the moment converged inside the young man's body, and he could see that Cirrus was all too willing to let Vincent bear the brunt of its force. "_**HE**_ DESECRATED OUR NAME! YOU WOULDN'T KNOW, YOU LIAR!"

Vincent could barely take note of the eerily familiar blade before Cirrus was in front of him, his sword a hair's width from cutting off Vincent's neck. _He's fast,_ he thought in amazement, barely able to backpedal away from the strike. But then another swipe came from above. He sidestepped it and he could feel the energy streaming from the glyphs on the side of it. _It's NOT the Ultima Weapon._ Another swipe, dodge. Swipe, dodge. He did his best to avoid the strikes, but the blade continued to squeak closer and closer each time. Even he would be struck eventually.

He nimbly leapt over a horizontal pass, and before he could fully put his weight back on the earth, he saw the ethereal blade descending on him. His muscles straining with the effort, Vincent shifted his entire weight onto his right foot and slid his left foot back, narrowly dodging the blow. The flat of the blade was presented to him, and he instantly took the chance and drove his fist into it, snarling as he drove into it with all his strength and conviction. Shockwaves ripped through his arm at the blow, and he heard several cracks and snaps following their wake. The sword, dug deep into the earth, was plowed backward, Cirrus along with it. The energy that had formed around them from Cirrus's repeated blows slowly dissipated, leaving the gunslinger feeling drained and earnestly spent.

They both panted deeply, Cirrus clutching at his stomach where the sword had finally struck him, and Vincent holding his broken left arm with his slowly healing right. Sweat was pouring from both men's faces, but neither took the chance to wipe it out of their eyes. Even through his weary haze, Vincent knew that the moment either of them did, he'd be dead. _Gods, what was that? Even Cloud had never moved so fast._ The gunslinger gingerly got to his feet, taking pains not to jiggle his left arm.

Cirrus was still on his knees, head down. The weapon Vincent had originally thought to be the Ultima Weapon was now barely glowing at all, its blade a dull, see-through blue. _Even the blade is like the Ultima's. And it's not a fake. It's too powerful to be a fake._ He took a step toward the man, then another.

"...stop," came the soft-spoken reply. Vincent did so, but his gaze remained on the man, wary of each possibly deceptive limp muscle. "...you... you b-bastard..." There was a sniffle. Vincent was silent. "...how... how dare y-you..."

Vincent steadied his voice and replied in his usual, emotionless monotone, "Who told you these lies?" Cirrus looked up at him, his eyes bright and brown and shining with tears. He seemed on the verge of another bout of tears. "You may shed your tears later," he commanded. "Answer my question." Cirrus nodded a bit, wiped his eyes with a dirty, gloved hand, and looked up again. His eyes were still bright and brown, but he no longer seemed on the brink of tears. He'd contained his emotions, which was a good sign.

"...N-Nanaki sent for you. Come, I'll take you-" The sound of projectiles made Vincent suddenly wheel backward, making a beeline for his guns. Two small stars embedded themselves in the dirt where he'd been standing. He looked to his right, where the shuriken had come from.

He heard it before he saw it. A booted foot was rocketing for his skull, and it took all of his reserve energy to dodge it. Rolling away, he managed to grab the Quicksilver and get into a sloppy, half-kneeling stance. When he looked up again, a fireball was flying at him. _Who is it now!?_ he wondered with a touch of exasperation, quickly casting a barrier around himself before the sphere of fire slammed into him. He sunk slightly as some of the flames broke through the rainbow-colored shield; a stray lick of fire cut him on the cheek, allowing for a thin stream of blood to trail down his pale cheek.

"Who are you?" he asked after the fire subsided. He tried to force his clawed arm to reach for the Peacemaker in his boot, but it responded by sending hundreds of mind-searing bolts of pain into his head, so he simply let it dangle at his side. He trained the Quicksilver on her head, his hand unmoving despite all his fatigue.

The woman standing between him and Cirrus had a long, flowing mane of jet-black hair. Her eyes were two distinctly different colors, her right a sky blue and her left an emerald green, but each almost sizzled in its brilliant anger. She wore what seemed like a red Wutainese haori, depicting the great mountains of Cosmo Canyon. The sleeves, lined with an elaborate golden design, were cut to only the middle of her biceps. Her arms were tense, and he could easily make out the muscles in them; she was a strong fighter. She sported the same fingerless fighting gloves that Cirrus had, but hers were made of dusky brown leather and covered her wrist; the backs of them were a solid chunk of something, and he presumed it to be some sort of metal. A black obi cinched the haori to her waist, also emblazoned with the same golden design. Tucked under her haori was a pair of form-fitting scarlet pants that stretched down lean, muscled legs to her small, lightweight traveling boots, their toes covered in hard steel. If he'd been hit by those, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd have been suffering a concussion right now, if not a cracked skull. Neatly tucked into her obi was a curved, shortened sword, its red lacquer creating a beautiful gloss. A matching one was strapped to her back.

She disregarded his question, only fixing him with a furious glare and a thin, rigid line of a mouth. She slipped into a stance that he recognized almost immediately. _Wutainese ninjutsu,_ he thought to himself. A flicker of pink, flower-covered kimono dashed at the side of his vision, and he almost smiled at the fond memories. _You always did love to show off._ Behind her, Cirrus was struggling to his feet, grasping at the hilt of his giant sword. He spoke to the woman in a hushed tone, but Vincent picked it up nevertheless.

"H-hey, sis..." Cirrus' voice was weak and broken, but it wasn't due to emotion anymore. He had overcome that, at least. "D-don't worry-"

His sister waved his comments aside with a curt wave, her eyes still trained on Vincent's kneeling form. "I'll take care of this, Cirrus. Get back," she commanded, and reached for the two small swords behind her. Vincent's gun cracked out a loud retort and the projectile shot just to the side of her face-

With a speed he thought would've been impossible for a human, she grasped her two blades, swept them in two crisscrossing arcs, and then there was the spark as his bullet was batted away. _She's fast, too. Very fast._ He fired off two more shots, and each was deflected easily.

"It's going to take more than a gun to beat me, gunslinger," she replied, holding the blades in a charging position. "However you beat my brother, you won't beat me."

"Ruana," Cirrus tried again, but she once again waved his concerns aside.

"You would do well to listen to your brother. Even if you ARE descended from Cloud, I will show you no mercy." Once again, just like her brother, Ruana's expression shifted to a scowl at the mention of Cloud. _...Nanaki,_ Vincent thought with bitterness, and found a strange emotion taking over his system: regret. It was something he hadn't felt in such a long time.

Suddenly, her two swords were twirling at him, knocking him out of his impromptu soul-search. Two bullets fired off and the blades fell to the ground. He brought his gaze back down to her-

"HYOH!" His head snapped to the left, her knuckles flying past. He turned with the blow, sidestepping the second punch in the process. And then he was assaulted yet again, deflecting as many punches as he could and either dodging or taking in the rest. Somewhere in the volley of punches and kicks, his gun was thrown from his hand; he could feel the snap of his fingers as the heavy metal twisted them back.

"...ugh...!" was his small note of pain, before he finally managed to get some distance between the two of them. _...she's VERY fast..._ Then she was on him again, a sidekick driving so quickly from his left that he knew he wouldn't be able to dodge it-

"AAAAAAAHHHH!" His fragmented arm, already shattered from the blow it had struck against Cirrus, flopped up at a sickening angle as her boot struck, driving the fire-dipped bone fragments through his muscle and nerves; at that single moment, his entire vision was engulfed in pitch darkness, only slowly coalescing into an incinerating red.

It was all he felt before he was once again on his knees, clutching his mangled arm and trying his best to hold in the shrieks of agony that were threatening to escape his lips. The red haze was still covering his closed eyes, holding his mind in a state of torture... of death... of... of... chaos. "Who are you?" came from above, and his eyes snapped open. They were the color of fresh blood, blazing with a brilliant fire. They turned on the woman, and saw her eye, the single sky blue iris.

_**Cloud... MURDERER!!**_

The shriek of torment turned into a snarl of wrath. Uncontrollable wrath.

* * *

**Interlude – Loyalties**

The Jenova towered above his kneeling form, cackling in an unearthly voice that was all too familiar. "_Just LIKE her, EH, vinCENT?"_ The gunslinger forced his tear-blurred eyes to glare into Jenova's own hauntingly familiar electric blue orbs. Cradled in his arm was the diminutive form of Yuffie, her skin a pale blue-white. The wound in her chest was already stopping its massive uproar of blood; some of the thick substance melted into Vincent's cloak and hair like a second layer, barely noticeable.

"You..." Vincent reached for the butt of the Death Penalty at his right hip, still holding onto the dead ninja's body with his golden claw arm. "...Jenova..."

A ferocious snarl came from his right, and a blur of red followed, trailing blood from the extensive blade wounds it had suffered. Jenova flashed to the side and swept at Nanaki with its ethereal blade, cracking through even the gray cube that suddenly surrounded him. Nanaki fell unceremoniously, his final reserves of energy spent. A newly gaping wound pulsed out even more of his life's liquid, and he kicked weakly.

"Look, VINcent, LOOK. evERYboDY'S dyING... NO one CAN stop ME now. THE plaNET is MINE." With its left arm, Jenova hefted the giant Masamune, its blade still gleaming with Yuffie's blood. And the blood of the others. The countless others.

_**Blood...**_

Yes, there was so much now. Blood was everywhere, coating the walls like a fresh layer of paint. It was soaked into the fabric of his cloak, soaked into his skin, soaked into the black pants he wore, soaked into his hair, soaked into his eyes...

"...this... this is... chaos," he whispered, unclasping the metal buckle that held the Death Penalty in place.

"YES, it IS chaOS. And IT is TOO late," answered the bloodstained man-monster. Then it brought the weight of its sword down; Vincent forced his own muscles to move, but it WAS too late, he would never make it...

Its arms pulled back for just a moment; its eyes flickered in that same moment, and Vincent imagined that he saw something in them he hadn't seen in a long time: relief. _Thank you,_ it said. _Thank you for saving me._

The Death Penalty snapped into place, and its barrel was filled with the sound of a million damned howls, all reverberating into one solid core of enmity that lanced out like a needle stabbing through cloth. Jenova's chest was sucked back with the impact of the bullet, and ragged chunks of muscle and blood vessels spewed out behind it as the bullet passed through. Another peal of the gun tore its head off as it flopped to the Temple's earthen floor.

* * *

The few seconds that passed by as he held Yuffie in one arm and his gun in the other felt like days, even months. The turmoil the past six days had wracked finally began to seep through his façade, and there was little he could do to keep from placing the Death Penalty's barrel against his own head. The only force that held him was the physical feeling of her cold body pressed against his, its lifeless complexion still soothing him, even in death.

As he finally rose to his feet, the gunslinger slung Yuffie's body over his shoulder and began trudging to Nanaki, who was just barely keeping his fiery eye open. "...Nanaki," he called, placing a hand on the large wound the animal had just suffered. "Nanaki," he repeated, after the dog creature didn't reply. The scuttle of magic tugged at the edge of his vision, draining some part of his mind that was already beyond drained. It traveled down the length of his arm and into his fingertips, where soft motes of light coalesced. They seeped into Nanaki's torn flesh as they swirled around his fingers, pooling around his fur and the small droplets of blood still dripping from it. After a few seconds, the motes faded away, leaving a thin, greenish scar in their place.

"...V-Vin... cent..." Nanaki gasped out, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface. "...it... it's over...?" Vincent nodded, thinking about those precious flashes of time that had presented themselves less than a minute ago. _...Cloud..._

"Yes... yes, it is."

* * *

**The Present**

The memory came to him in an instant, and he forced his body to the side just before he could impale the woman on his fingers, which were already sporting claws. His skin, flushed a plum purple hue, slowly settled to its normal tone. The rage dissipated just as easily as it had come, and the adrenaline it brought with it also dissipated, leaving him feeling drained. More so than he already felt.

To his side, Ruana had taken a step back, broken out of her stance. The look on her face was of abject horror – she was scared out of her mind. He took in deep breaths, feeling the pain return in floods. "...You..." he started, then looked away and grimaced as the pain overflowed. _What I wouldn't give for an amputation right now._ "...you... are STILL... Cloud's heirs..." The blank look in her eyes seemed to disappear at that, and she stumbled and fell, staring at him. He matched her inquiring stare with his own, and it simmered, even in his pain. "And for THAT... and that alone... I will stay my hand."

A rustle from the grass to his left made Vincent look up. Cirrus was there, his blade being dragged behind him – Vincent would have found such a display disrespectful under normal circumstances, but he understood the overwhelming weariness that demanded it. "...okay, sis... THIS is the guy we've been waiting for," he said, and even managed enough strength to give her a gentle kick without losing balance.

Ruana turned from Vincent to Cirrus, her look of fear replaced with embarrassment. "W-what?" she asked.

"You heard me," he answered, and it seemed he had regained some of the lost energy the battle had sucked from him.

"Well, why didn't you tell me, you idiot!? With you all banged up like that, how the hell was **I** supposed to think otherwise?" She grumbled and reached her hand out, grasping his own outstretched one. Cirrus gave a weak laugh, which turned into a small coughing fit.

"...heh, you should have been listening," he said, after he got control of his voice again. Gesturing a thumb at Vincent, he continued, "C'mon, I'm surprised you didn't notice, what with all the things Gramps tells us and all."

_Gramps?_ Vincent thought with a small touch of mirth.

* * *

Ruana gasped as realization dawned on her. She turned to Vincent, her eyes wide and her mouth open in an 'o'. "Y-you're… you're HIM!?" she gasped, pointing an accusing finger at him. He clutched his useless arm and gave a small nod. A small blush swept across her features, making the woman look no younger than sixteen. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" She pulled out a green Materia, grasping it in her grip. "Here, here, let me fix that-"

"No," he interrupted her. She stammered for a few seconds, catching her spell and her words.

"B-but your a-arm…! It HAS to be pain-"

"It is."

"Then why not-"

He staggered to his feet and slowly retrieved his two guns, grunting with pain as he placed the Quicksilver into his left hip holster. "Because," he said as he did so, "what is pain's purpose if no one feels it?" She was silent at that, only mildly grumbling incoherent things to herself. "This will heal soon enough."

She sighed, her embarrassment increased. "...I just... y'know, it's YOU... I just wish I could do something..."

"If you do anything, it should be to forget all stories Nanaki has ever told or will ever tell about me. You seem to worship me as a hero." He turned to regard them, and brought his claw up, already feeling the bone fragments reshape themselves. "That is something that I am not." Then, to reinforce that statement, he added, "Nor will I ever be one."

He was met with silence. It was an uneasy feeling for two of the three – they were at a loss as to what to say in the face of such a statement from such a person. Finally, Cirrus broke the silence. "So, uh, I guess we should get going."

Vincent nodded. "Yes. Take me to him."

As they made their way to the southwest gates of Wutai, Ruana turned to ask Vincent, "Um... Vinc- Mr. Valentine-"

"'Vincent' is fine."

"Uh, okay, then. Vincent, if you don't mind my asking, how did my grandfather know you'd be here?" She looked at the blank expression on his face, hoping to see some sign of the man acknowledging her question.

His features didn't show any change, but he replied, in the coldest voice she'd ever heard, "I mind." The sudden halt to her question, as well as the tone of voice he'd used, chilled her to the core, allowing no room for anything else. "No more questions, Miss Strife." She nodded uneasily and turned her attention to the road ahead. But another question formed at the tip of her tongue, and she couldn't keep it in. She glanced at his demented arm, still hanging limply at his side.

"I... uh, I'm sorry, but-"

"No questions."

"I KNOW, but you arm-"

"It's fine."

"I KNOW, okay? But it won't heal the right way, even IF it heals fast-"

"It's fine, Miss Strife."

"Vincent, at the very LEAST, let me sling it up!" He paused at that. Both Ruana and Cirrus looked back at him, confused.

* * *

"_Here, let me get that." _So I don't have to look at the city,_ Vincent finished for her. She tore off a section of her already scanty green shirt and took his arm in her hands. Vincent glanced down curiously at her bare midriff, which now stopped just under her small breasts. Yuffie, not looking up from her work, simply blurted, "Don't you get any ideas, Vinnie." He nodded, gave a small grunt, and returned to surveying the damage Midgar had received._

_Yuffie's nimble fingers worked swiftly and diligently, easily settling his broken limb into the makeshift sling. However, getting the green garment to tie around his shoulder proved to be something of a challenge. Even on the tips of her toes, the young girl's arms could barely reach Vincent's shoulders. "Hey, bend your knees a little, will ya?"_

Vincent sucked in a breath. _Was THAT when it started?_ he thought. Then he shook his head and continued walking. "It's fine," he said as he passed her. Ruana gave Cirrus a look that said, _What the hell was that about?_, to which he only shrugged. Then they passed through the gates of Wutai.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Family Ties, part A END**

**Notes:**

F. Scott Fitzgerald – One of the great American authors, author of _The Great Gatsby._

Atma Weapon – The "Ultima Weapon" from FFVI. There's not much to say about this weapon, save that it's more or less an "updated" version of the Ultima Weapon.

Haori and obi – As far as I know, a haori is a shirt resembling the top part of a kimono that has very stylish designs stitched onto it. Like those cool-looking silk shirts that have dragons, tigers, and other such stuff on 'em. An obi is basically a belt, one used to hold a martial arts uniform together.

I had originally designed Ruana to have a more unorthodox outfit. But once I took into greater consideration her fighting style and schooling, I decided to keep her closer to a traditional 'kunoiichi' image, with a few minor modifications.

Ninjitsu – The common term for ninja fighting techniques. Also spelled "ninjutsu."

Ruana's short swords – Two wakizashi – mid-length swords that accompany a katana on a warrior's belt.


	4. Family Ties, part B

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

Minako was one who did not enjoy being surprised. So when the old dog from the west, Nanaki, unexpectedly paid her a visit, she was just slightly less than welcoming. _Damn that creature,_ she thought to herself as she pulled the dark purple kimono over her shoulders. _Never sends a note... or should that be a warning?_ Either way, it was a severe frustration. She already had enough of those by just being the ruler of the country, and adding a pop-up dog did not help matters any.

"Minako, have you prepared?" Katakai's voice echoed from outside the rice paper walls. The sliding door opened a squeak and his dark eyes peered through, shaded partly by a tuft of unruly black hair. "One does not enjoy speaking to Nanaki-dono alone, as you well know."

She nodded and cinched the robe together, putting her sandals on in the process. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, Katakai. How is Akira doing?"

"He is still occupied at the Altar. He's been there since this morning." Minako frowned. That wasn't typical of the boy, no matter how strange he was. She smoothed out a small wrinkle in the fabric and made her way to the door, opening it the entire way to reveal her husband.

"Alright. I'm ready. Where is Nanaki now?"

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Four: Family Ties, part B

_Dharma: __"Who then is the friend given by the gods?"  
Yudhishthira: __"It is the wife who is that friend and safe refuge."  
- _Mahabharata,_ retold by William Buck_

* * *

Vincent held back a grimace as he observed what had become of Wutai. _Things have changed around here._

When they had first entered the city, Vincent had somewhat been expecting things to be the same, that through some sort of miracle, Wutai had been spared the industrialization the rest of the world had undergone.

What he saw, however, was almost worse. There were large, traditional pagodas lined all over the place, and each one sported some sort of garish name like "The Western Sun" or "Leviathan's Palace." Apparently, its tourism industry had increased by a lot since he'd last visited.

The two siblings led him through what was now a labyrinth of identical houses, all painted a blinding red and topped with a never-ending, sloping rooftop. Even the characters on the signs no longer seemed special. _A vast cesspool of stereotypes and prejudices,_ he thought with malice. _If Yuffie had been here..._ He derailed the train of thought there, sending it careening into the valley of his mind.

"Tell me: where is the Pagoda of the Five Gods?" he asked as they made their way through a small, forested area. Cirrus and Ruana turned to regard him, slightly shocked. For the past hour or so, there had not been a single word spoken between the three.

"...uh, th-the what?" Vincent looked out through an opening in the trees and saw the rock wall of the Da Chao Mountain, still towering over the imperial palace of Wutai. He pointed at it with his index finger.

"The Da Chao Mountain overlooks the imperial palace. Correct?" They nodded. "Approximately two kilometers north of the palace, there should be a large, five-story tower."

Cirrus nodded in realization, and said, "Oh, do you mean the Altar of Kisaragi?" He continued walking, taking a cursory glance back to make sure they were following him. "C'mon, we're already late as it is. We can talk as we go."

_Altar of Kisaragi now, is it? _The red-cloaked gunslinger hesitantly followed their lead, all the while staring at the yellow granite surface of the mountain. "And does this forest wrap around Wutai?" he asked.

Ruana answered that one, scowling, "Sure, if you consider a backwards tourist trap of pretty buildings and horrible food to be Wutai. That place is the most old-fashioned crackpot I've ever been to-"

* * *

She jumped as a loud crack issued from behind. For a moment, she could feel the metal slug boring into her head, blowing out chunks of her skull and brains. She could see it escaping her forehead, could see her eyes rolling out of their sockets from the force of the impact.

...but then she realized that it had just barely missed her and instead had blown into an unfortunate maple tree behind her. Birds leapt off their perches and nests, leaving their terrified young and rattled eggs to fend for themselves. Little furry animals crashed into one another as they escaped from the sudden outburst, expecting a monster to tear through the forest. Even the plants, whose roots were firmly planted in the earth, seemed to bend away from the dark and ominous gunslinger.

"Do not speak of Wutai in that manner again." Ruana shivered as she felt his eyes pierce into the back of her head, as if shooting lasers that could destroy her mind. No, not just her mind, but her soul as well.

Cirrus leapt between the two and grasped the barrel of Vincent's rifle. He hissed in unexpected pain as the heat from the barrel seared his hand, but still managed to knock it aside. "Okay, calm down! What the hell's wrong with you!? Don't think you can just go around threatening people like that!" Ruana stood, shivering, in absolute disbelief as Vincent merely looked at her brother. Then he turned and surveyed the Da Chao Mountain again.

"Twice have I spared you your deluded ignorance," he said to her, replacing the large rifle in its holster. He stepped off the edge of the worn path and into the brush, using his right hand to gently move branches from his path.

Cirrus snarled in frustration. "Where the hell do you think you're going!?" Vincent didn't answer. She felt her knees wobbling, unsure of their solidity, and with frightened eyes, she looked at Cirrus; he groaned and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. "Look, you can go and visit the Altar later, okay? Right now we've got to go talk to Nanaki."

Vincent looked back as he walked, and pushed aside another branch. "I need not listen to you, Mister Strife." He brought his hand up to the green band on his forehead and traced his fingers along the iron plating there. "Nanaki will know where to find me." And before they could say anything else, he leapt into the trees, disappearing from sight.

There was a dull silence surrounding the Strifes after Vincent left. "...you okay?" Cirrus asked, turning his attention back to the main road and to her.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine... He shot past me." Nanaki's words passed by in her mind – "...I would advise you not to address Wutai as such in his presence." – and she finally understood why he had said that. Twice the man had nearly killed her, and twice had she, with all her skill and training, been utterly helpless to stop him. "C'mon, let's go." She gave one last glance in the direction Vincent had gone, and started walking again.

* * *

Cirrus grimaced, glaring back in the direction Vincent had gone. "That guy's got some serious issues," he said. Ruana looked at him, and then back to the road, her face withdrawn.

"I... I'm sure he has his reasons," she retorted.

"What? Ruana, did you not notice that he SHOT you?" She nodded. "Okay, and what's the reason behind THAT?"

"I don't know." And before he could say anything, she added, "But Gramps was right. I should've been watching what I was saying. I forgot about that."

"Forgot about what?"

She turned to face him, walking backwards as she went. "He told me not to talk about this place like that when I was around him." She shrugged. "And I forgot his instructions. Guess I deserved what I got."

Vincent's eyes flashed again in Cirrus' mind, and he shook it off with unease. Those eyes had definitely scared him; he was surprised he'd even been able to move to intercept his gun. "Yeah, maybe," he admitted hesitantly. "But still, shooting at someone can NEVER be excused. He could've killed you." Ruana nodded and made to turn around, but took notice of the missing blade on Cirrus' waist.

"Hey," she said, pointing at his hip, "Mind telling me what happened to your Masamune?"

"What do you mean?" he countered, patting his pants. "Didn't you already ask me that?"

She nodded. "Yeah, back at the gates. But you didn't answer me."

"Oh." He shrugged and jutted a thumb in the direction they had come. "Well, he mauled it is what happened. It was all mangled up, so I just left it at the gates."

Ruana whistled lightly in awe and slipped her foot past a jutting rock. "What do you mean, he 'mauled' it? He broke it?"

"...no, he twisted it in the opposite direction." _He also shot it._ She whistled again, and he snorted. "Gee, thanks for the support, Ruana."

"Sorry. Hey, what do you think Mister Haams will say about it?"

"What, the sword?" Ruana nodded. Cirrus grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck as if it were in pain. "Ugh... I didn't think about that. The best I can hope for is for him not to run me through with HIS Masamune."

The forest gave way to a beautiful and unique mixture of landscape and architecture – towering conifers jutted out from large expanses of cobblestone streets, wooden railed bridges stretched across the stream that ran through the central area of the inner city, and the swirling serpentine form of Leviathan surrounded a pool of crystal clear water. The traditional crimson thatched-roof buildings lined the area along the base of Da Chao, blending in and out of the mountainside seamlessly, as if they were built of the ancient stone itself.

"Run you through? Geez, he wouldn't do THAT, would he?" Her brother simply looked at her. "I already told you, Cirrus. That cult of yours is gonna get you killed someday!"

"Cult? Just because you don't believe that He'll return doesn't mean you can insult me!" Ruana spun on her heel and came face-to-face with Cirrus, fire in her eyes, fire that was reflected in his own.

"Oh!? And why not!? That man already DIED, Cirrus! You guys are like a bunch of stupid little groupies! C'mon, Sephiroth was a washed-out old fart that fought in the stupid war! That's all!" Cirrus couldn't help but laugh, the mocking outburst rolling through the forest around him.

"You know, that's pretty DAMN close to what you said about Wutai, isn't it?" Ruana, about to ready a comeback, was left gaping and silent; the glare in her eyes, however, was still filled with rage. He stepped to the side and passed her before hissing, "I'll go and let Gramps know. You go to the Altar and make sure Vincent doesn't run away again." Ruana didn't argue the subject; instead, she turned to her destination.

They left each other in silence, both heading in different directions.

* * *

Vincent made his way up the final step of the Pagoda and pushed open the rice paper door. The blaring afternoon sun met his unblinking eyes, bounced off, and went its separate way. A flock of sea birds that had nested on the corner of the roof stared at him curiously, as if unsure of what to make of him. He scanned the large, expansive rooftop and found the enclosed room easily. Carefully shutting the door behind him, Vincent stepped out onto the tiled roof.

His metallic boots clacked on the roof, echoing loudly on the high winds. It had been decades since the newest floor had heard this sound, and it seemed to come alive as the ambience bounced and disappeared into the wood and stone. The wind whistled a soft tune into his ears, carrying an energy with it that flowed into his pores; the surroundings held an air of familiarity to it and he was calm and there was even slight...

Happiness. Yes, he could feel her presence here, and she was welcoming him back home. _I'm back, Yuffie. It's been a long time._ The grim line of his mouth slipped upward into a small but genuine smile.

The heartwarming glow suddenly disappeared as his eyes hardened and he took another step. _How can you be in high spirits, Vincent? You let her die, you monster._ The morbid thought came and went in an instant, but it took with it all of his enthusiasm. _You saw it with your own eyes, even IF they were __the __eyes of a demon._

_You let her die. You let her die. You-_

_Silence!_ he hissed back. _You may live now, Chaos, but you WILL NOT accuse me!_

He walked in silence for a moment.

Another moment passed, and the demonic visage's voice didn't return. Vincent nodded the spirit away and stepped up the small wooden step. He pushed open the paper door and was met with a darkened greeting room, its black-blue walls supported by darkened red pillars. A pair of sandals was resting on the floor at the far end of the room, on which its walls also supported a traditional Wutainese rice paper door. Above it was a deeply embroidered sign with the young woman's family name on it, overlapping the crest of Wutai. Taped along the perimeter of the doorframe were several paper charms and beads, most of which were now old, dusty, and sure to crumble at the slightest touch.

Vincent eyed the sandals warily as he undid the clasps of his cape; he sniffed the air and sorted out the recognizable smells from the new ones. He scanned the room beyond with both his eyes and ears, hoping to get a clue as to who the visitor was. Nothing moved in the shrine, though, and Vincent finally removed his crimson cape and placed it neatly in a pile on the flooring above the alcove for his boots. Feet bare, he slid open the door and made his way into the misty confines.

"Who are you?" whispered a low voice in the tongue of Wutai. Vincent's eyes immediately adjusted to the dark shrine, eyeing the small altar on which incense burned upon a cup of uncooked white rice. A picture of Yuffie sat behind it and was surrounded by the names of her ancestors, including her father and mother. Her name was painted on a vertical plaque above her picture.

Kneeling in front of the altar was another young man, who looked no older than Vincent did. He had a smooth crop of long ebony hair that was held up in a long ponytail that reached the middle of his back, a common Wutainese hairstyle. He donned a simple dark green kimono.

"A visitor. You are?" Vincent answered, padding silently to stand beside the kneeling man.

"What is a commoner doing in the Altar of Kisaragi?" he asked immediately, shifting from a kneel to a meditative sitting position, legs crossed.

Vincent stood beside him for a few seconds before answering. "What he wishes. You are?"

The man flinched and snapped to face Vincent. Apparently, he hadn't noticed the silent man walking and standing next to him. Even now, his eyes struggled to make out Vincent's figure, hidden as he was by his dark black attire. For sure, the only way he could've seen him was due to Vincent's unnatural crimson-red eyes.

Vincent's eyes also widened slightly in surprise. He hadn't been able to see the man's eyes before, but now he could clearly identify the shimmering irises that hung suspended in the gloomy space. _This man... he can't be..._

One of his eyes emitted the same furious red as Vincent's own; the other was a ambient yellow. _Yuffie... is this boy...? _Despite the wild thoughts running through his head, Vincent composed himself and seated himself next to this suddenly much more interesting individual.

"You are of the royal family, are you not?" he asked to bring sense back to the man. The man eyed him warily with those ineffably familiar eyes as he settled into position.

"...are you serious?" he asked. Seeing Vincent's deadly serious expression, he nodded. "Yes. Yes, I am. My name's Akira Kisaragi, and if you haven't heard of me, then you must've been living under a rock for the last twenty years or so."

"Fifty." Vincent grunted with slight amusement at the slightly flabbergasted expression on Akira's face. "You are the son of Minako Kisaragi." It was less of a question than it was a factual statement.

"Uh-huh."

They sat in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts to lull over. Vincent kept his gaze fixed upon the portrait of Yuffie in front of him, but snuck small, sidelong glances at the man next to him._ Akira... Yuffie, our dau-_

"May I have your name?" Akira questioned, interrupting his thoughts. The gunslinger nodded to show he had heard.

"My name is Vincent..." He paused for a second, not sure how to continue. "...Vincent Valentine. I am an old acquaintance of your mother." _Acquaintance. Yes, that is what I have become._

Akira nodded and rose to his feet. "You seem... familiar, Valentine-san. I hope to see you again."

"And I you, Kisaragi-dono." Hearing that, Akira turned and left, shutting the door securely behind him. That left the dark man by himself in the darkened shrine he had built himself.

He stayed there in silence for what felt like hours, just gazing at the portrait of Yuffie. _The last time I left you, Yuffie, I was sure I would never wake up again. And now that I'm here again, I'm not sure what to do._ He stood and walked to her picture, placing his human hand on the counter. Immediately, he could feel his spirit begin to calm, his eyes begin to droop as if he were falling asleep.

He smiled gently and chuckled to himself, replying, "Since when did you start having this effect on me?" The air hummed, as if in response to his question. His thoughts went back to the fight earlier, and again he could faintly see her young vibrant self, arms and legs swimming swiftly through a kata, rosy petal-adorned kimono flowing like a beautiful serpent around her.

At the time, Vincent had asked himself when it started. As the memories puckered up from the depths of his mind, he decided that now was as good a time as any to figure that out. The past covered him in its nostalgic embrace, and he was once again lost.

* * *

He gazed down on the charred remains of Midgar, gently cradling his broken right arm. "So this," he whispered, "is the heroes' reward for saving the world." Fires still burned in many of the slums; even after dawn, five hours after Meteor had descended, the signs of its destruction refused to disappear, like little pockets of cancer that never went away.

Small hands gently rested on his back, so as not to startle him. "Yuffie," he stated monotonously, nodding slightly in her direction.

The young girl circled around to his front, eyes taking in the crumbled Shinra Headquarters. Her mouth opened to say something, but closed after nothing came. Instead, she turned and faced his injured arm.

"Here, let me get that." _So that I don't have to look at the city,_ Vincent finished for her. She tore off a section of her already scanty green shirt and took his arm in her hands. Vincent glanced down curiously at her bare midriff, which now stopped just under her small breasts. Yuffie, not looking up from her work, simply blurted, "Don't you get any ideas, Vinnie." He nodded, gave a small grunt, and returned to surveying the damage.

Yuffie's nimble fingers worked swiftly, easily settling his broken limb into the makeshift sling. However, getting the green garment to tie around his shoulder proved to be something of a challenge. Even on the tips of her toes, the young girl's arms could barely reach Vincent's shoulders. "Hey, bend your knees a little, will ya?"

"...so," she began as her hands tied the green rag around his shoulder. "...what... what are we gonna do now, Vinnie?" He shrugged as best he could, but did nothing to stop her from her work.

"...I can't answer that." She looked up at him, shaking stray locks of brown hair out of her eyes. He felt her jerk the knot tightly, and twitched an eyelid at the mild pain.

"Why not?" Yuffie asked, keeping her hands laced around his neck. _Still doesn't want to look at it._

He rose to his full height to detach her arms, but locked his eyes on hers. Better to keep her nervous under his gaze than to make her nervous over having nothing to stop her from turning around. "Because every one has a different purpose to fulfill. And," he added, hearing the sounds of rugged, worn boots approaching, "because Cloud has not yet said anything." He took a slightly amused moment to notice the faint blush that spread across Yuffie's cheeks at the mention of Cloud, and turned to face his leader.

"Vincent..." Cloud pinched the bridge of his nose, no doubt trying in vain to formulate a plan of action that would save an entire city with only eight people. "...I've got no idea what to do right now. With only eight people and a badly-damaged emergency transport vehicle - which would reduce the available personnel to seven - I don't know where to start. Any tips?"

The gunslinger almost laughed. _He asks a former Turk his advice on the subject of saving lives._ Instead, he answered, "With the resources we currently have, I suggest... anything productive. And..." He passed a glance at Yuffie, who looked back questioningly. "I think we should leave Yuffie out of any recovery efforts."

"WHAT!?" He felt her reel back in shock, a stunned expression on her face. "Why the hell would you do THAT!?"

Cloud also looked moderately confused, but only matched eyes with Vincent. "I'm also confused. Why would we leave her out of this?"

"She is... too young to see what a devastated city looks like," he replied calmly, ignoring her even as she attempted to yank his claw off.

"Am not!"

"I think you would agree, Cloud."

His leader nodded gravely, deeply considering it. Yuffie paused in her retrieval attempts, a kunai held perilously close to where Vincent's arm met gold. "Cloud, you can't seriously be considering it!" He ignored her, still weighing the odds.

Then he looked up and met Vincent's gaze again. Vincent knew he wouldn't like the answer he'd get. "I understand your concerns, Vincent. But the fact is that we've got too few people as it is. We can't afford to leave anyone else out of the relief efforts. And besides," he added, giving a small, comforting smile and glance at Yuffie (both of which surprised her and caused a warm blush to form), "Yuffie's seen things most people don't see in their entire lifetimes. She's fought next to us, Vincent. I won't allow her to not be included."

Vincent's face remained neutral, and he simply nodded. "Very well." In the side of his mind, he thought that only Cloud could get away with saying something so cliche without being laughed at. Yuffie unlatched herself from his limb and beamed, quickly flicking the kunai into a side pocket.

With that matter aside, Cloud once again returned to massaging the bridge of his nose, furiously thinking of something for each person to do. He suddenly let out a huge sigh, and let his hand drop to his side. For a fraction of a moment, something seemed to hold the blonde man down, wrenching his spirit in its invisible grip and grinding it deep into the ground, where leeches slurped and sucked it dry. The rigid structure of his shoulders slumped and dragged; they looked ragged and worn, even under his skin.

Even for Vincent, who had seen and taken part in countless life-or-death missions, the split-second scene in front of him was stunning almost beyond comprehension.

He reached out and clasped Cloud's shoulder, causing him to shake himself to awareness. "Rest," he said, as sincerely as he could; it still came out in an indifferent monotone, but there must've been something in it that made Cloud relax. "Turks often worked without one or more of their members. You've also experienced this in SOLDIER."

Cloud nodded, but brushed his friend's hand aside. "Thanks, Vincent. But, tired as we all may be, there are still things to be done." He smiled wanly and turned to head back to the Highwind. "Being the good guys sucks." He chuckled. "Alright. Since you're concerned about Yuffie, I want you two to do a sweep of Sectors 7 and 8 together." Yuffie protested this profoundly, but he cut her off briskly. "The damage to Sector 7 was extreme, but that doesn't mean there won't still be people there.

"We'll parachute from the Highwind again, and I want you to establish some way out of Midgar's walls. Once you're there, make some sort of safe house. When you're done, go by your own discretion. Cid'll come back in four hours and take the casualties to Kalm."

Vincent nodded. The strategy was roughly thought-out, but it suited the current circumstances just fine. "Very well." Cloud wearily stretched his neck and left, leaving Vincent with the young ninja once again. A small droplet of dark, sickly rain slid down his cloak, and made him turn to her. "Yuffie, let's-"

She was gazing at the ruins, her hazel eyes wide and bewildered. Instantly, without thought or feel, he was holding her closely to him, no allowance for her to turn around allowed. As he pressed her to him, he could faintly hear the muffled sounds of her broken sobs, even as she valiantly fought them. "V-Vincent," she sniffled, clutching furiously at his cloak and jumpsuit, as if she wanted to sink into his body and never come out again. "...th-th-the city... Midgar, i-it..." She broke off into another bout of wrenching sobs, and began thumping his chest. More droplets buffeted his body, threatening to call upon the thousands and thousands of their minions.

Grimacing, Vincent cradled her awkwardly, ignoring the scalding fire in his arm as she crushed it between their chests. "Yuffie," he replied in as soft a voice as he could. "Yuffie, look at me. Look at me," he commanded calmly, tilting her chin up with a cold finger. Her eyes shone with tears, distorting her irises. A small part of him wanted to mock her, to scold her for being so childish. But that part was small, nearly dead after those thirty years. "The destruction of Midgar is not your doing, Yuffie. There are many things that one should not cry for. To cry is to claim responsibility, and this responsibility belongs to no one. If you want to claim responsibility for anything, claim it for saving as many people as you can. And for appeasing the souls of those you cannot."

The words were wise, much too far beyond his time; nevertheless, he bestowed them upon Yuffie, who reacted by wiping her eyes off and nodding somberly. The tears came again immediately afterward, but it was still a step in the right direction. "O-o... okay, Vinnie..." She pushed off from him and apologized under her breath for his arm. "V-Vinnie?"

"Hm?"

She shook her head to get rid of the tears. "P-Promise me... promise me something."

"What?"

Another shudder shook her small frame, but she resisted it to stare unflinching into his eyes. "J-Just promise first."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I..." he began, doing his best to detect any signs of trickery from his sixteen-year old companion. "...promise..." That admission suddenly brightened her face, causing her to smile broadly despite the tears coursing down her cheeks. The shower of polluted water died down slowly, leaving just as easily as it had come.

Leaping back, the girl pointed an accusing finger at him. "Hah! I gotcha now! You promised!"

To show his disapproval, the gunslinger simply deepened his frown, a feat that was admirable even for him.

"You're gonna come visit us after all this is over! No ands, buts, or ors about it! No matter where we are, you're gonna visit EACH and EVERY one of us! You promised, so no moping around in that damn cave of yours!"

He was not usually one to lose words – he never did much with them, but he never lost them, either – but at that moment, the words cluttered inside his throat, and he was left wide-eyed and gaping. Even the line of his mouth, normally rigid and tight, was just the slightest bit ajar, as if the words had been a shot of Novocain and she had been the dentist.

Laughing hysterically at his unusual expression, Yuffie rushed past and headed for the Highwind. Vincent followed immediately after, his face of shock replaced with one of severe wrath. Still, in the back of his mind, he was glad the young girl had recovered from the sudden impact, even if just slightly.

* * *

"So," Tifa said, her sing-songy voice weaving around the counters and stacked chairs. "How long's it been since you left? A month? Two?"

He shook his head, placing another chair atop one of the many well-polished wooden tables. "Three months, Tifa." She threw her rag into a bin behind the counter and came out from behind it, looking at him with a light smile.

"Did you find what you needed?" He returned her glance, placing another chair atop its table and moving onto the next.

"...in a way," he answered after a brief delay. That seemed enough for her, and she pushed gracefully off the counter and made her way toward him.

"Y'know," she replied in a light teasing tone, "I remember you gave me a smile when you left." Once again, she reached up and clasped his hand, cradling it to her chest. It was so reminiscent of the last time he had been here. She lightly kissed the knuckles of his palm and brought it down to her slightly enlarged stomach. "How's about you treat Zangan to one, too?"

Vincent obliged, patting her smooth stomach. "You two must be happy." Tifa nodded. "He has good parents." She beamed at his comment, graciously thanking him.

Boots could be heard approaching, and Vincent turned to see Cloud in the front entrance, dressed in rugged jeans and a plain t-shirt. "Vincent," he replied, clattering down the three steps that led into the bar and stepping up to the gunslinger. "Last time, you left while I was asleep. I made sure I wouldn't miss it this time." He took his position next to his spouse, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her close. "Where'd you say you were going?"

"Wutai."

"Gonna go see the squirt?" Vincent nodded.

"She made me promise."

* * *

The house of cats was still standing. As he opened the door, the overwhelming waft of feline odors made him wrinkle his nose in disdain.

_She's airsick __and__ seasick, and yet she can live with cats._ And apparently, her duties as a princess had left little time for taking care of her pets. Litter boxes were starting to shape themselves into clumps of monstrous proportions; food trays lay with their meals upended and various flying insects fluttering within their gaping mouths; cans of tuna were strewn all about, some still dribbling juice and all adding another layer of fishy stench to the house.

Grimacing, he padded past the cats, noting their curious stares. He made his way up the side stairs and flung open the shutters, allowing a cleansing breath of fresh air into the room. He took a moment to enjoy the magnificent view of the small stream that knifed through half the city.

Vincent pushed off the windowsill and began the process of tidying the place. As he stooped down to pick a small bowl from the floor, a smooth, orange-haired kitten leapt onto his shoulders, digging its claws into his cape for purchase. He retrieved the bowl with the patience of one who had all the time in the world and stood up. The kitten, surprised, nearly tumbled to the floor, but managed to scramble up to his collar. He frowned at it; it stared back.

Without a word, he returned to his duties, allowing the little feline to burrow into his collar and watch him clean.

It was a strange sensation, performing such menial chores. It was definitely a far cry from the fighting, assassinating, and rebuilding that he'd known for so much of his life. _It is,_ he said to himself, _very... calm. Peaceful._

Perhaps this was what was best for him. Perhaps it was time to settle his life, to live in calm for as long as he could.

"Get th' hell AWAY from me!" The sudden shriek cut through the air and his thoughts in an instant. Shifting his face from a deep, thoughtful frown to a deep, disapproving frown, the gunslinger went to the side of the door and, counting the sprints and feeling the faint vibrations, flung it open. "Huh!?" Yuffie cried, just a few steps from her house.

Then she was on the floor, clawing at her nose and foot, simultaneous crying out vulgarities, cursing Vincent to the depths of the underworld, and greeting him.

Godo stopped just short of the entrance, panting heavily, keeled over. Vincent stepped into the sunlit doorway, regarding Godo. "It seems she fell."

"Oh, you jerk! Owowowowow...!" The young princess snapped to her feet, her glares daggers which she used to stab him. "You TRIPPED me! I can't believe you actually TRIPPED me!" She suddenly gasped in disbelief. "Oh, you came! You really came! Oh, Vinnie!"

Then she had leapt on him, her kimono-clad arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Small as she was, she had to crawl on him just to keep herself up. "You kept your promise!"

Vincent gave her a brief glance over his left shoulder. Confused, she turned to the small kitten on his right shoulder for enlightenment; it looked back just as confusedly.

"Greetings, Lord Godo." The old man righted himself with an effort, glaring some startlingly familiar daggers at Yuffie.

Coughing, he turned his attention to Vincent. "Ahem. Excuse me, Vincent-san. My daughter, as you can see, is just as flamboyant now as she was when she was in your company."

From atop his back, she made a fist and nearly lost her place. "Flamboyant my ass! NOBODY would accept something as idiotic and old-fashioned as THAT!"

The resolve that Godo had tried to show immediately wore away, and the two reengaged in a loud quarrel. Sighing, Vincent reached up and retrieved the orange cat, which was infinitely glad to be even a few inches further away from the wailing voice next to it. He looked at it with a flat, annoyed expression, which it mirrored. Dropping it gently to the ground, he interrupted their heated debate.

He walked away.

Both Godo and Yuffie let out a "huh?" at the motion, once again registering the fact that there was a person next to them that was indeed very well and alive and breathing.

"H-h-hey, Vincent! Where're you taking me!?"

"Nowhere. You're riding on me."

"Ah! I deeply apologize, Vincent-san! My daughter, you see-"

"Don't pin this on me, old man! This was all your fault!"

"..."

"MY fault!?"

"That's DAMN right!"

"...Will..."

"You ungrateful whelp of a daughter!"

"What'd you say!? I'm the heir to the throne!"

"...you please..."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!"

"Hah! Like I'd care! It'd take away that stupid-"

"...be QUIET!"

The roar silenced both father and daughter thoroughly, who only stared dumbly at the equally thoroughly peeved gunslinger. "Argue with each other if you must, but I am leaving," he said coldly, attempting to hold in the twitch that he knew would start forming in his eyebrow.

"I offer my most sincere apologies, Vincent-san. We were BOTH out of line." This last part he said with a contemptuous look at Yuffie. "About the argument..."

Yuffie broke in, screaming furiously next to his face, "He's forcing me to marry my COUSIN!"

* * *

"Memories, no doubt?" The heavy voice startled him out of his thoughts. He bumped into the altar in his haste to turn around, and a few grains spilled onto its dew-covered surface. In the doorway was a red creature, its tail flicking around as if the flames of the earth itself burned along it. One brilliant eye gazed at him through the chilly darkness and bobbed up and down as the creature stepped into the room. "It's been a long time, Vincent."

He nodded. "Yes, it has." Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "It's been fifty years."

"Yes, it has. And throughout all these decades, you have aged not a single day. Nor did you wake." His eyes narrowed just slightly. The last words had been said with... perhaps he had imagined it.

There was a long, detached silence afterward. Both simply stared at each other, mindless to the minutes or perhaps hours that passed by.

"How could you-"

"I heard Nibelheim-"

"His grandchildren are-"

"Nuboko saw you-"

"Zack and Zangan couldn't have-"

"Zangan is DEAD!" Nanaki suddenly cried.

Vincent nearly gasped at the news. He was quiet, though.

Nanaki continued, in a voice choked with emotion, "You never should have gone to sleep, Vincent."

* * *

**Chapter Four: Family Ties, part B END**

A/N: Apparently, I originally wrote this chapter around the time Advent Children came out. That's... two years ago. Wow, was I a deluded fanboy then.

**N****otes:**

Dharma, Yudhishthira, Mahabharata – Dharma is an Indian god. Yudhishthira is Dharma's human son. The _Mahabharata_ is an Indian epic that tells the story of the war between two clans that share the same land.

Sector 7 – As Yeyana Valentine pointed out to me, Sector 7 gets completely demolished during the game. It was something I had failed to address during the original writing of the chapter, and it's an example of a continuity error in my story. Hopefully I've fixed it well enough.

Honorifics – I'm assuming that everyone more or less knows the Japanese honorifics. If you don't, feel free to PM me and I'll try to explain them as best I can.

**E****xtras:**

In case anybody was interested, here are some ideas for scenes that were never (truly) finished. Mind you, they're both extremely rough, but all rough ideas are. And again, this has NOTHING to do with the main story. So read on if you want to, but trust me, it's not important.

_He placed the thin, expertly-crafted glass back on the table, its contents having declined none since he picked it up. From the stage, Cid swayed to the side as he recounted an exaggerated experience of Cloud and Tifa attempting to build the new Seventh Heaven through a slurred speech. "...an' ah coulda tol' em, ah coulda, tol' em tha' ere was n-noo way tha' wood'sa gonna suppor' them an' all. Bu' they, those lil' lovebunnies, they smile a' each uh'er an' say, "We'll keep it up, Cid. You'll see." An' then I knew fo' sure tha' they's were gonna ge' married an' have kids and get a house..." His voice began to crack at this point. "...an' I thought to myself, I did... I'd like that." He shook his head as if to clear it and caught his footing just before falling off the stage and into Barrett's lap. "So... so, that's why I'm here, saying, "Congratulations, ya little kids."" Every person in the room let out a whoop of support, trading looks between the half-drunk Cid and the newlywed couple sitting at the large table next to him._

_Vincent noticed Yuffie turn from playing with Marlene to let out a shrill whistle that everybody laughed at. "Tell 'em, Ciddie!" she cried out, nearly jumping up and down in her white bridesmaid dress. Cid nodded to her, but did not get off the podium to allow the next person on. Instead, he dropped his smile, and Vincent could see the gears turning in his head._

_Finally, the pilot smoothed down his blue suit and took the microphone from its stand, striding off stage. "And there's one more thing I'd ask all of you to bear with. Now, you all know Shera," he said, walking over to his assistant's table, "and how she's helped us all over these past few months." A loud "hell yeah she's helped" came from Reno, but Cid ignored it. "Now, I know this seems strange..." He was now looking Shera straight in the eye, and there seemed to be a beam that wouldn't allow them to separate. He dropped to his knee, and Shera let out a startled gasp, flushing a deep crimson. Her joy was evident in the beaming smile that she wore, which threatened to split her face in two. "...but I think it's time. Shera Goodswyn Hillier," he started, reaching into his suit pocket to produce the black box, "will you marry me?" He opened its top, revealing a beautiful, reflective diamond ring. Shera began to weep in joy, being hasty to wipe the tears away. Her eyes stayed locked onto Cid's as she took the microphone from him._

"_I-"_

"_Do! Of course you do!" Elena cried out, raising her glass (which was empty) in salutation. Shera laughed embarrassedly, taking the time to bring her voice to some level of control._

"_I do, Cid Highwind." There was an enormous uproar as the jovial mood already growing in the room was doubled. Vincent found himself actually smiling a bit, clapping his hands together after each speech was given. Hours flew by like seconds, and before he knew it, it was already dancing time. He had planned to leave by this time, but he'd gotten caught up in the contagious mood of the night._

_Before he could turn to leave, a small hand grasped his shoulder. "Hey, Vinnie!" Yuffie. He smiled a bit, turning to face the young ninja. "Come on, let's dance!" she said before he could respond._

"_No, thanks," he answered, voice still as deep and unfeeling as ever. Yuffie pouted prettily, insistently pulling on his metallic limb._

"_Oh, come on, Vincent! I know you can't dance, but it's a SLOW song! It doesn't take much effort for THOSE!" she exclaimed, wrenching so hard on his arm that he thought it'd tear off. He almost jerked away, but stuck to simply staying glued to the chair._

"_I can TOO dance, Yuffie. I just don't want to." The ninja was now practically completely wrapped around his arm, trying with all her might to pull him along. She actually managed to move him two inches closer to the dance floor._

_Yuffie snickered at the opening he'd presented. "Really? Well, I wanna see you dance! Prove it to me! ONE song, that's all I ask! ONE song, and I won't bother you for the rest of the night! Come on, please!?" Normally, he would've been able to easily ignore her persistent persuasions, but this time he actually gave in. Shaking his head in exasperation, the dark-haired gunslinger allowed his sixteen-year old partner coax him onto the dance floor._

* * *

_He placed his hand gingerly on the swell of her stomach. "He's going to be just fine," he replied, ruby eyes staring deeply into Tifa's navel, as if looking at the baby itself. Suddenly, there was a small thump against his hand. Tifa let out a light chuckle._

"_Seems like he likes you, Godfather Vincent." Normally, he would've remained emotionless and taken his hand away from her pure skin and purer baby. But it is said that babies change everything, and he was no exception – his smile broadened and he patted lightly on her belly._

_She grasped his hand again, this time moving it to the side as she unexpectedly caught him in a fierce embrace, her forehead sinking into the crook in his shoulder. He almost backed away from her, but after the initial shock wore __off, he placed his one good arm around her waist and returned the gesture. "Promise me you'll come back," she demanded, tightening her hug to emphasize the point._

_Tifa took in a deep breath of his scent, and felt a blush creeping to her face. They must've looked extremely awkward right about now; if Cloud were to awaken right at that moment, she couldn't imagine what he'd think. Still, she took in another deep waft of his smell, trying to capture every essence of him in her soul. Who knew how long it would be before he got back? They were practically family now, after all they'd gone through together._

_The gunslinger let his fingers lightly trace along the small of her back, feeling the smooth, flawless skin under his palm. He _


	5. Reunion Birth

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

The silence that permeated the air fell heavily against their bodies, as both Vincent and Nanaki fought each other's glares. A streak of electricity ran through this nearly-tangible silence, humming in the air like the sound of a thousand mosquitoes. Neither moved, ignoring the frosty chill of the room.

Finally, Nanaki spoke. "Would you like to know what else transpired while you slept?" Vincent winced as if slapped by the accusing and hateful words. It stung even more to see that the dog-like creature had actually been exalted at the prospect of meeting him again. _So, I've disappointed once again, have I?_ he noted grimly in a small part of his mind.

"This is no place for talk such as that."

Nanaki answered, "Hmph," mockingly, then added, "Of course not." He suddenly shook his head and backed out of the doorway. "I'm sorry, Vincent. This is not the way I'd planned to greet you."

"Plans often go awry." He made an effort of taking his time to pick up the few grains that had tumbled to the surface and replacing them near the top of the bowl. Then he kneeled before it again, bowed once, and rose. "Did Akira- did Kisaragi-dono..." He bit his lip, wondering just how to continue.

Thankfully, Nanaki finished it for him. "No, I came long after he left. Shall we talk outside?"

Once outside, Vincent saw just how long he'd been inside the windowless shrine. The sun was already on its way to sleep, nearly five hours past noon. It had been almost a week since he had woken up, he realized with mild surprise.

"Nanaki," he said as the high winds whipped his hair back. He looked down upon the large city, one part of him amazed at its growth and another part deplored. "May I... see my daughter?" Nanaki gave a look of surprise before answering.

"Why would you ask me, Vincent?" he retorted.

"I..." _Am afraid, perhaps? You're afraid that your daughter will hate you? After all, you ABANDONED her, Vincent-_

He clenched his claw, cherishing the white-hot pain as it cut off the demon's voice, even as he let out a low growl and his vision became spotty.

He heard Nanaki sniff at the air suspiciously, and was certain the creature could make out Chaos' ghastly stench. "I remember the stink of Jenova on Sephiroth," Nanaki said unexpectedly, catching Vincent off-guard with his deeply intense eye. "I also smelled it on Cloud." Vincent didn't say anything; the invasive and alien messages suddenly flying through his head were keeping him amply distracted.

Vincent's fist clenched even harder, the pain so exquisite that it was almost some perverse form of pleasure. _...ffie DIED... __fight__ing... cre__ci__... you... Cid... Tifa... you... all... your fault... all your fault..._

_All your fault._

His body became completely rigid; his teeth nearly melted together with the amount of pressure he was exerting on them. The pressure took him away from the awful pain shooting through his gold-flecked limb, took him away from the blood that flowed from it. Took him away from the... the cells-

"Vincent."

The voice seemed so far away now. All he could hear was the voice of Chaos, the eternal demon that was somehow coming to life inside his corrupt mind. Even through the numbing wall that he'd erected, its voice reached him. The pain from his left arm... it was driving him mad.

_YUFFIE DIED RENO DIED TIFA DIED CLOUD DIED CID DIED ELENA DIED AERIS DIED YUFFIE DIED RUDE DIED YUFFIE DIED YUFFIE DIED THEY ALL DIED ALL BECAUSE OF YOU YOU YOU BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T HELP THEM BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T COME DIDN'T COME TO THE REUN-_

The demon's will suddenly let loose a mighty roar and tore through his defenses, plowing him through the ground as it gorged itself on his senses, throwing him aside so easily and so quickly that he didn't even realize it. Chaos forced his clenched arm to open, drowning the pain-

He staggered back in a hollow shock, gasping for air he didn't know he hadn't been breathing. For a moment, he only gazed out and saw nothing, his eyes vacant under the demon's control. Slowly, though, the world resolved itself again, and he saw Nanaki leaning toward him, worried. Of Chaos, there was no longer a sign. "Vincent?" he implored, concern draining his voice of any earlier suspicions he might've had.

Hesitantly, Vincent met the gaze with his impassive mask again. "...nothing. What did you say?"

Nanaki shook his head and made his way to the stairs. "I thought I smelled something on you. But it was just the wind."

Vincent grimaced lightly, noting with abrasive reality that the scattered leaves were barely stirring. After an elongated pause, he followed.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Five: Reunion Birth

"_Are we not like two volumes of one book?"  
-Marceline Desbordes-Valmore_

* * *

Ruana was waiting for them at the base of the tower, and immediately averted her gaze when she saw the red swish of Vincent's cape as he followed behind Nanaki. Vincent tossed a glance at her with a slight but obvious enmity.

The same unnerving silence that had descended upon the gunslinger and the canine once again revisited the trio, hovering over their shoulders like a squabbling sibling. Ruana kept Nanaki and another two steps between herself and Vincent, squirming self-consciously and passing cursory glances at him. He made it a habit to gaze at the surroundings, no discernable emotion gracing his features except the random flicker of anger.

As they passed through the thin patch of forest that separated the tower from the rest of the village, Nanaki, tired of having had to deal with the oppressive silence for the last five minutes, replied, "I assume you two have been acquainted." He looked up at Vincent, and smiled slyly, a feat that was impressive for a creature such as him. "Am I correct, Vincent?"

"Hn?" Vincent answered, glaring down disapprovingly. Ruana also turned to face Nanaki. "...yes," he added after a moment's pause.

"Judging by your arm, I also assume it wasn't the most pleasant of meetings." He chuckled to himself. "Well then, I suppose it is time you two have been properly introduced."

"Oh, there's no need, Gramps-" Ruana started, casting a nervous and frightened look at Vincent.

"Vincent, this is Ruana Strife, daughter of Zack Strife and Mira Strife," he interrupted, matching her glare with a warm grin. "...and granddaughter of Cloud Strife and Tifa Strife," he added after taking note of Vincent's disapproval. Her glare turned a shade colder, but he ignored it and turned to Vincent. "Ruana, this is Vincent... Kisaragi-"

"I am not Kisaragi."

Nanaki stared at him in silence a moment. Then he continued, "Father of Mina-"

"NANAKI!" Vincent hissed, spinning on his heel to face the creature. Nanaki calmly looked at him, stopping in his stride.

"...father of Minako Kisaragi, and grandfather of Akira Kisaragi." With a wan smile at the gunslinger, he continued his unhurried pace toward the palace, which was now barely a mile away. Vincent snarled at the retreating figure of Nanaki, his voice low and threatening, but the latter either didn't notice or didn't care.

Ruana stared at this exchange in awe; she again gazed nervously at Vincent, noticing with painful awareness that they were alone. _I have to say something to break this silence, but what?_ she asked herself, trying to scoot further away without looking like she was trying to scoot away. "A-are you really-" she started, taking a tentative step forward.

"No," he answered curtly, resuming his walk. Though his footfalls were nearly silent, she was almost shaken by how much it seemed to stomp through her eardrums. _He's pissed off,_ she observed. Then she hurried to catch up with Nanaki, fighting the urge to bolt as she passed under Vincent's deathly eyes.

* * *

Brightly-colored koi lapped up the flicks of rice peppering the surface of the small pond, causing a single ripple to form each time their heads bobbed out of the water. Nuboko watched this with feigned interest, glancing sidelong as the young prince of Wutai stepped down the veranda to his right. The dark-haired man sported the same olive kimono he'd worn to the Altar, but his hair had been let loose, giving him an almost feminine air. Nuboko returned his gaze to the koi pond, though his eyes were narrowed just the slightest bit. His hand suddenly cupped the bowl of rice with a fierce intensity, and the porcelain strained under the pressure.

The sound of Akira's footsteps thudded loudly in his ears as the man drew closer and closer.

Nuboko tracked his reflection in the pond's mirror surface; the man's single visible iris cast ruby tones in the water, reminding him of the eerie gunslinger he'd picked up a week ago.

He scowled before flicking some more kernels of rice, distorting Akira's dark figure into a sea of leaping flames.

The koi, orange and red and yellow and gold, danced around him as he crept closer, becoming swirling flashes of fire and crisscrossing his demonic body, and he crept closer, closer, about to strike...

"...hello, Nuboko-san," he said, venom leaking through his constrained words.

Nuboko clenched the bowl in a vice, his knuckles whitening. "Hello, Kisaragi-SAMA," he forcibly answered, dipping his hand into the bowl again. The figure in the water stopped directly behind his own reflection, and he fought the urge to whirl around and cross-face the prince just so he could be left without that unsettling tingly feeling in the back of his spine.

Akira said, "I saw Nanaki-sama earlier today. Did you send him?"

"Yeah." After a pause, he added, "Kisaragi-sama."

"I see." In the water, the demonic image resumed its trek, though this time the flames did not leap and frolic around him as he passed Nuboko. "The servants can prepare a room for you if you choose to stay, Nuboko-san," he said.

Nuboko chuckled mockingly to himself. "That's alright, Your Majesty. I'm only here for the day. Frankly, I'd rather spend it at the Turtle's Paradise than here." A small part of him smiled smugly as it deciphered a grimace from the other man's reflection; the smile was that much smugger because he could see how hard Akira'd been trying to hide it.

"I see," Akira replied as he turned to round the corner. "Well, if you change your mind, you're always-"

"I know. Thank you, Kisaragi-sama," he interrupted abruptly, emptying the bowl into his palm and scattering the white grains along the water's clear surface. Grabbing his jacket from its place slightly off the veranda, he turned in the direction Akira'd been coming from and left, bowl in hand. On his way out the estate's large gate, he looked off in the distance and saw a trio making their way from a distance. A pair of eyes glimmered at him even from the large expanse, and he found himself scowling at their scarlet brilliance. _They could almost be brothers,_ were his thoughts before heading toward the Turtle's Paradise.

* * *

Instead of proceeding directly into the expansive Great Hall of the building, each was led into their respective guest rooms. Once inside, and with the rice paper door securely shut, Vincent kneeled down to unpack what little he had.

The room was well-furnished, and very spacious as well. In one corner lay a simple futon, rolled up into a compact package. Next to it on the wall opposite the door, a fair-sized desk was gleaming in the filtered afternoon light, with an intricate carving of the extinct and legendary Wutainese Dragon trailing along its edges; its tail wrapped around the bottom peg of the front leg, circled up and into the rear, where its mustached head lifted up and met a twin dragon at the center of the back. A matching wooden chair was neatly tucked underneath it.

Next to the desk was a small, simply-lacquered wooden table for eating, propped up on its side. On the wall to the right of the entrance, he saw a large mirror hanging at eye level. The wall opposite this had a wooden closet as company. All in all, it was very accommodating.

_First things first,_ he remarked. He removed the Death Penalty from its holster and placed it on the desk. Unclasping the single strap holding his cloak together, Vincent placed that on the chair's back. As he reached for the Quicksilver, a four-legged shadow cast itself on the back wall, and he gazed at it for a long time before turning and opening the door. "Yes?" he demanded levelly.

"I hope I'm not intruding," replied Nanaki, matching Vincent's gaze as he stepped into the room.

"What do you want?" he asked again, returning to the table, where he promptly placed the Quicksilver and, a moment later, the Peacemaker. He opened a pouch on his vest and began disassembling the guns with the instruments within, taking careful note of Nanaki's position in the room. _Why so distrusting, Valentine?__ Always so wary of those around you._ He ignored Chaos.

"Always prompt. I remember you were always prompt. Even after your marriage-"

"State your business or leave."

"Very well, very well. I only came to tell you that the royal family will be coming to see you shortly. I suggest you prepare yourself for it," Nanaki said, and turned to leave.

"Don't you can 'suggest' anything to me," he answered swiftly and coldly, and Nanaki instantly turned on him, his mane flaring out, his fiery tail burning brighter.

"I have known you for fifty-six years, Vincent! And while you were SLEEPING in that damned coffin of yours, wallowing in your own unfortunate life, **I** watched as EVERYONE YOU AND I KNEW vanished into the midst of time! You shall not DARE, not for a SINGLE moment, to dismiss my 'suggestions!'" As if to reinforce that statement, Nanaki finished with a loud roar and slammed his forepaws into the tatami mats. "I knew you better than most and I know you better now than anybody. We were friends, once upon a time, and I would like to think that our friendship has endured." He gave one last glaring eye and made a brisk way out, snapping at the doorframe with his tail.

Vincent stared at him in silence for a moment... then another... and returned to disassembling his guns. _Nobody knows me now,_ he told himself as he felt the pistol fairly melt apart in his experienced hands. _The only two that did... died too long ago._ Nanaki's voice kept ringing in his head, though, and it carried with it an enticing and tempting proposition. A friendship... he knew all too well how steep the price was for those. Placing it out of mind, the gunslinger brought his focus back to his firearms, which he realized he'd already completely assembled again. Frowning, he depressed the magazine of the Quicksilver and emptied its chamber.

_Vincent..._ The voice surprised him, not only because Chaos sounded different – in fact, it sounded almost... passive – but also because it had almost seemed to whisper to him. If such a thing was possible, that was. Grimacing, Vincent carefully placed the gun and clip back on the table.

_...what do you want, Chaos?_ He felt self-conscious, for some reason. He'd always talked to himself, little though it was, but now he was holding conversations inside his own head? _I'm going insane._

_No._

_Just tell me what you want._

_Lucrecia._

His grip on the desk tightened visibly, and he thought he might've heard a crack somewhere within its frame. _Lucrecia is dead. You should know that. She gave you to me._ He listened intently for any sign of Chaos, for any tinge of emotion that wasn't one of his own. Something like destructive tendencies, maybe.

...but there was silence, and he couldn't sense the presence anymore. His eyes refocused on the firearms on his desk, but his task was interrupted again as a shadow fell over his desk. He froze.

He knew who it was.

* * *

**Interlude – Pivotal**

Godo crossed his arms stiffly, fixing his daughter with a stern gaze. "I've already made my decision, Yuffie." Vincent stood in the drenched veranda guarding the front door, trying his best to concentrate on the billions of raindrops splattering everywhere. It was, frankly, almost impossible to do.

"What about MY decision!? Huh!?" retorted Yuffie, followed by the oh-so-Yuffie stomp on the floor, which rattled a few of the tatami mats in the room.

Godo sighed with weariness. "If you had not been so furiously engaged in this AVALANCHE business, I would not have had to take your future into my hands," he explained; Vincent could detect that faint smear of frustration that was creeping into his voice.

Yuffie snorted and stomped again; Vincent frowned disapprovingly at the childish behavior she was once again resorting to. It was certainly not going to receive any favor from the lord of Wutai. _Yuffie,_ he mentally willed to her, _get your act together, you foolish girl._ Through the paper door, he heard, "Nobody EVER told you to take it into your hands! And don't you bring Vinnie and the others into this-"

"**I** did not bring Vincent-san into this because **I** am not the one that fell in love with him! AFTER I was betrothed, no less!" His eyes widened in shock, causing the slightest of gasps to issue from his lips. From the other side of the door, he could also make out Yuffie stammering and tripping on her words. Godo continued, his voice now pleadingly calm, as if he were at his wit's end. He may have been, too, for all the whining Yuffie seemed intent on doing. "For the sake of our family's honor, we MUST marry you to Suzuki-san. However much I love you, and however much I want you to be happy, I MUST uphold the honor of our family. As must you."

There was silence... silence... then a sniffle. It cut through all the raindrops like a master's gleaming blade and deep into the pits of his mind, reverberating in his ears. _Whatever happens,_ he said to himself, unnerved beyond reasoning, _you know to stay out of it, Valentine._

"So..." Yuffie began, her demeanor abruptly and staggeringly different. "...the only way to be happy is through dishonor?" Godo was taken aback by this, as was Vincent. Of all things, he wouldn't have expected the young princess of Wutai to sound so... _Dismal?_ Yes, dismal. It was another surprise that he hadn't expected. The situation was starting to fall apart, he could tell, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to be there when it finally deteriorated. A part of him wanted desperately to bolt from there. "Well, then," she continued, "if that's the case..." Vincent grimaced; from the longevity of his stay in Wutai, he'd developed something of a sixth sense regarding the young girl and headstrong decisions. That feeling was creeping up on him now. "I declare myself disow-"

The thunder of a hand against a cheek echoed from inside the house. Vincent couldn't take it anymore; he did an about-face and proceeded to tear through the door – no matter whether she deserved it or not, he was still her guard – but stopped just as a young, feminine outline appeared on its off-white surface.

It slammed open without warning, and he met Yuffie face to face. Her eyes were gleaming with tears, and silver tracks fell down her cheeks. The rain immediately began to mimic those tracks, bathing her in a silver radiance that caused a part of him, some long-lost part that had continued sleeping after he'd awoken, to stir. Even the red mark on her cheek seemed to give way to the unsettling beauty he witnessed.

They stared at each other for less than a fraction of a moment, but in the midst of that half-moment, he felt a current rush through his body, something invisible that held the two of them inextricably together. It frightened him because it felt so good

But the next half-moment came and went, and she bolted past him, bare feet splashing wildly against the cold pavement, heedless to the copious amount of water that was soaking into her orchid kimono.

He took a look inside. The elder Kisaragi stared at his trembling hand with clouded, mud-colored eyes, as if it didn't really exist. Then Vincent turned and left to find the princess.

* * *

**Paternal Fault**

"...Oh, god..." The voice was mature and coarse with age, but it still held that special ring to it that he had spent hours at a time simply listening to while she chased her mother around and around the garden. With great effort, he resisted the urge to close his eyes and break down into tears, opting to step away from the chair.

Turning around seemed to take more effort than he could muster; a part of him desperately needed, STARVED to see his daughter's face, and another wanted to become a ghost, an invisible phantom. He had felt the ache in her voice, all the long decades of pain and longing contained in those two small words, and suddenly he found he didn't want to face it. For the first time in a very long time, he felt overwhelming fear. _Oh, Minako, what have I done...?_ When his eyes roamed over her, he saw the young two-year old girl that had gotten a hold of Yuffie's oversized shuriken and had somehow managed to climb to the roof of the house with it, wailing in fright until Yuffie and he managed to save her. Then the young girl faded away, and he was faced with a withering woman who was past her prime. Despite the fact that her once silvery charcoal hair was now frizzled and graying, though, her baby-smooth face wrinkled and deepened, he could still make out her beauty, her elegant and royal radiance. She still held herself with that air of superiority, and a small, insignificant part of him smiled at that.

She gasped when she saw his face, as if she had hoped, in some deep part of her being, that it really WASN'T him, so that she could simply excuse herself in an embarrassed tone and laugh at herself for being so foolhardy to believe that her estranged father had returned after being gone for half a century. "Y-you're really alive. So you didn't lie..." she whispered, and the tears threatened to run over and down into the hands that were cupped over her gaping mouth.

His knees felt weak, and he could barely breathe, and the only thing he could think of doing was to touch her, his fifty-two year old daughter. Claw steadying and balancing him on the chair's back, not minding the sharp stab of pain that it wrought through his shoulder, he brought his other hand up, as if beckoning to her. "Minako... my little Mina-"

The regal gown of her kimono flashed as she reeled back in disgust. "Get away from me!" she hissed, a sudden fire blazing in her amethyst-hued irises. "Whoever you are now, you are no longer my father!" Those words stung him to the deepest reaches of his being, deeper than any sword could possibly reach. "My father died when he left me!" With that, she quickly slammed the door shut, her brittle fingers still possessing the surreal dexterity of a great queen. And, like Nanaki before her, she stormed down the hall, leaving behind even more sins for Vincent. Sins, regret, and sadness. Loneliness.

Loss.

The chair he leaned on seemed to swirl underneath his arm, and he felt his knees finally buckle underneath him. Scrabbling at the chair for purchase, he rushed into its seat and slammed his elbows on the desk, seizing his head in his hands. With long, steadying breaths, Vincent attempted to regain his self-control.

Then he brushed away the small steam of wetness trickling down his cheek and resumed his work.

_...Vin-_

_Be silent._

* * *

**Chapter Five: Reunion Birth END**

**Notes:**

Marceline Desbordes-Valmore – A French poet who died in the mid-1800s.

Koi – The English loan word refers to the colorful carp that were popularized in Japan in the 19th and 20th Centuries. The Japanese word is used to describe both regular carp and the brightly-colored variety that were mated for show. It makes me wonder if they're edible, though...

Akira – Japanese for "clarity" or "brightness."

Wutainese Dragon – The dragon is done in the same vein as the traditional Chinese dragon – long, slender body, wise-looking head with a mustache.

Death Penalty, Quicksilver, and Peacemaker – The designs I'm using here are radical departures from what I observed in the game. The Death Penalty is more or less the same as its FFVII counterpart; I changed the angel-wing motif near the tip of the barrel to a simple "reverse bayonet" because I saw the gun in-game from a side angle. The Quicksilver and Peacemaker handguns are simply 9mm handguns now. I realize that the Peacemaker is an actual real-life revolver, but I like the name and I can't very well picture Vincent with anything but a semi-automatic pistol in his hands. A revolver feels too Western to me, which may explain why I dislike the Cerberus so much. Besides its disgusting design, of course.


	6. Rainy Night

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

Little else occurred that day. He was left alone with his sins and demons, but neither of the two proved to be particularly entertaining company. As the sun fell over the horizon, he gathered the Quicksilver and disappeared silently into the city.

Breathing deeply, he observed the defiled town with a certain sense of self-loathing. _Another sin,_ he noted. Lifting himself from the jutting lightning rod, he melted into the darkness and long-lost comforts of home.

There was a bridge he had often run off with Yuffie to, which was located just behind the Turtle's Paradise's southern wall. His eyes scanned from the roof of the bar, but he couldn't make out its unique design, or the small stream that ran underneath it. Upon closer inspection, he realized why: the bridge was gone. In its place, a barren scrap of discolored soil was in the process of being turned into a "native outlet" – a focal point of illusions, a stronghold for tourists to witness the "true" culture of Wutai. With a snarl, he tore a long gash along the fence, shredding the posted sign into hundreds of pieces.

Along the outskirts of the "true Wutai" were cheesy renditions of shrine entrances, horribly monotonous twin columns topped by a shingled roof, from whose rafters hung a sign displaying Wutai's name in emblazoned, golden characters. He circumvented its pillars and traveled along the grainy edge of the road. _Our ancestors are dead. They remain dead. And we killed them._

The rest of the city was foreign to him; with a sigh of disgust, the reminiscing gunslinger took once again to the rooftops, scaling the multi-tiered hotels to silently observe the surroundings.

He glared down on the late-night antics of a cookie-cutter restaurant serving prepackaged papaya salad. _Quab... she always loved it – four chili peppers a servi-_

Vincent reeled to the side as a shock seized him, throwing him off to his left. With a silent cry of surprise, he brought his good hand down on the slats of roofing, in order to stave his descent. It slipped off the smooth surfaces, and before he could get his legs under him, another spasm rocked his body, causing him to tumble fitfully onto the dewy street; the few denizens of the restaurant cried out and spilled their bowls of spicy fruit, gawking with a mixture of fear and the typical tourist awe at what was surely "an exotic native."

He felt the pressure slash through his vision once again, and with it came a word, a barely discernable whisper: "...jenova..." Grinding his teeth together, the gunslinger pressed his human hand against his temples as another lance of agony pierced through his psyche. Now there was a vision, as well, though he could scarcely make sense of it; all he saw behind his closed eyelids were swirling bamboo leaves and sinister moonlight. An apparition suddenly flashed before him, and he felt the muscles of his throat clench shut in an attempt to stifle the words that sought to be freed. The image faded so slowly, and into darkness he was falling, as the invisible force ceased to free him from its grasp.

He was going to die, here on the dark midnight streets of Wutai. For all his sinful immortality, he was going to choke to death-

"LUCRECIA!"

The syllables rushed out of his system in a flurry of black and white pepper dots; he gagged a moment longer and found his breakfast churning up in pursuit of her name. Sucking in deep, harried breaths, he gazed at the sickly yellow mass of acidic liquid before slowly bringing himself to his feet. _Lucrecia... what are you trying to tell me?_ Glaring quickly in the direction of the late-night diners, one of whom had actually had the sense to come and see what was wrong, Vincent rolled the numbing shoulder of his left arm and leapt back up and onto the city's rooftops.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem **

Chapter Six: Rainy Night

_On my knees, I'll ask  
Last chance for one last dance_  
'_Cause with you, I'd withstand  
All of hell to hold your hand_

_I'd give it all, I'd give for us  
Give anything but I won't give up_

_- Nickleback,_ Far Away

* * *

Whorls of mist eddied throughout the damp night grasses; he navigated as well as he could, but the fog that had settled in was intensely blinding. He kept his gun at the ready, using it as if it were a guiding light. Through the moon-illuminated clouds, all manner of bamboo appeared and faded like the ghosts of his memories, masquerading as the spiny fingers of a terrible creature of legend. His light clothing, consisting of a simple deep blue haori and loose black drawstring pants with his holster acting as a makeshift belt, hung to his skin as they soaked in the ambient moisture.

"...I know you're here..." he whispered. The fog suddenly cleared around him, revealing the scintillating stars above. The clearing opened in a faintly elliptical manner, and was surrounded on all sides by the smothering haze. There was a pull on his eyes, and he had the distinct impression that someone or something was trying to turn his gaze, to get him to see something that he couldn't see.

There. It flickered at the edge of his vision, right outside the border of the clearing to his left, and then vanished into the dense mist. The Quicksilver roared three times, and its fangs shot into the fog. For a moment, there was an unsettling silence, and then a bamboo stalk tumbled out into the moonlight.

Eyes squinted, ears opened, he listened intently and scanned as far into the fog as he could, hoping to catch just a glimpse of whatever creature was out there.

"...vincent..."

He wheeled around and peeled off four more rounds into the space behind him, but once again, the apparition sank into the dense fog before he could catch a glimpse of it.

A peculiar sense of déjà vu came over him then; he was reminded of Shinra Mansion, those eighty-odd years ago, when voices and images filtered in and out of his half-dead, half-living, half-clouded, half-Mako perception. Only one image, one voice, had been truly real then, and that one had been his lifeline, his anchor to the world of the living. Of course, after some time, that voice and image faded, and he had nearly surrendered to the inviting pull of the Lifestream before he found even that stripped from him-

Something rustled in the growth behind him, and he once again swirled to face it.

A piece of scarlet fabric lay on the floor of the forest, contrasting starkly with the pale green-blue of the bamboo. Even before he bent down to pick it up, he knew exactly what it was. He would never forget the last gift she had given him.

Holstering his gun but still warily keeping his hand poised around its handle, Vincent picked up the headband with his metallic claw, examining it carefully, cautiously. He knew that it couldn't be real; he had lost it in the Northern Cave, and he had never thought of retrieving it again. So what was it doing here, thirty years later, a thousand miles from its burial place, unscathed?

"Vincent."

His head instantly snapped to attention – even after all the years, he still hadn't broken this specific habit – and he couldn't help but stare. _This isn't real,_ he told himself sternly. _She's dead. You of all people should know that._ Then why was she here? Why was her gift, her most precious, most damning, most heartbreaking symbol of atonement in his hands? Why did she look as young and beautiful now as she did all those decades ago?

"You can't be real," he muttered, as if that would spirit her away. The apparition took a step toward him, and he instantly drew his gun. "Step back, whatever you are."

"Vincent," she repeated, and took another step forward. The Quicksilver fired again, but its mark flew wildly past her shoulder. "It's okay, Vincent. I've finally done it. I found a way for us to be together."

She came within two strides of his kneeling form. _Oh my god, she IS real,_ he thought, and tears suddenly began to form in his eyes. _Oh gods, she's still alive!_ "I... I thought you were dead... I never thought that you would be-"

He felt that invisible pressure in the back of his eyes again, and he knew something was trying to show him something, but at the moment, he just didn't care. After all, how real could that feeling be? He could feel the warm fabric in his hand. He could feel its texture, smooth and rough at the same time, sinking into his palm, molding to it. What could be more real than that?

_Look,_ he heard. Irritated, he shoved the impetuous voice back where it came from; he didn't want to be distracted, especially now, when she was reaching down to embrace him.

But the voice was persistent. _Look!_ it raged, striking straight through and into his eyes, warping the forest into a bloody field of jutting spires for a fraction of a second. He snarled at Chaos's attempt to usurp control once again and concentrated his gaze on Lucrecia's pallid, yellowish purple skin-

With a gasp of shock and fright, which easily transformed into anger, he leapt back just as the transmogrified creature closed its sickly purple flesh around the area he had just occupied, giving off a strange, guttural growl-squeak as he escaped its grasp. He could still make out the sick, deformed semblance of Lucrecia's arm protruding from the monster's shapeless mass. _No, that's no ordinary monster,_ he realized with horror. Looking down at his hand, he saw a piece of oozing flesh crawling around his fingers, with a large, blinking eye on the back of his palm. Snarling with fury, he shook it off and fired the remaining seven rounds of his clip into its giant retina as it flew through the air.

The larger body roar-squealed in a horrendously familiar fashion, and charged him. A piece of its flesh – what had impersonated Lucrecia's arm – let out a shrill cry as a beam of energy suddenly spat forth. Vincent leapt to the side and released his empty clip, but before he could reload, the creature was closing again, its central body splitting open to reveal a shimmering blue jewel surrounded by a gaping fang-encircled mouth.

He rolled out of its way, clicked in the spare clip, and fired two rounds into the beam-firing appendage. The bullets tore it off, but, as he had expected, no blood spurted forth from the wound. Snarling, the open mouth turned to face him, and the orb suddenly began to flare a bright hot white. Before he could react, the blast of fire threw him off his feet and drove him back.

His back slammed into a growth of bamboo and the Quicksilver was jarred loose. The barely healed bones in his left arm were rocked by the whiplash, and pain so exquisite engulfed him that he was momentarily distracted by it. The creature lunged forward and threw its mouth around him, bamboo and all, as it began to crush the large grass into pieces. Its teeth ruptured his chest as they passed through to the other side.

Some small, detached part of him wondered if this was going to be how he ended his life. Was this Jenova remnant simply going to chew through him?

That instinctive pushing behind his eyes folded everything in a haze of red, and with only a mild surprise, he noticed that the pain had completely vanished, and in fact, he felt... annoyance? Yes, it was a small annoyance, underpinned by a deep sense of justice, hatred, and revenge, but he mostly found that being pinned between blade-sharp grass and a monster that had two teeth sunk in his chest was, at most, an uncomfortable position to be in.

Power brimmed all along his body, and he found it easy to swipe his arm to the side, tearing off the Jenova's lips. Falling to his feet, he gingerly touched the broken fangs still protruding from his midsection. With little effort, he wrenched them free and felt the wounds instantaneously close up. There was a flash of light, and when he looked up, another blast of flame threw him into and through the bamboo stumps.

Rage, full and thick, encompassed his body; the world was suddenly lost as he felt Chaos taking over, felt the wings, the immense and powerful and graceful wings, shoot out through shoulder blades that were both his and not his, and most of all, he felt the raw power that could erode away the earth and bamboo and mist, and channeled it all into the toothless, disfigured form that he despised more than anything else in existence.

Then the world was black, and he gave Chaos free reign.

* * *

Rain splattered against his face, forcing him to open his eyes. He was lying on the ground, and the once-clear sky had given way to dark cumulonimbus clouds, and from those lofty faucets poured a gentle, soothing rain.

He tried to move, but his body was drained of all energy. _You could've held back a little,_ he chided half-heartedly, waiting for a response. When none came, he simply observed his surroundings. The forest was laid bare for at least ten meters in every direction, which could only have meant that Chaos had directed all its namesake at the Jenova monster. He briefly wondered why Chaos harbored such a strong hatred for the creature, but he was too weary to keep that wonder. Besides, the rain felt good on his face.

As he closed his eyes, he briefly saw the faded form of a ninja striding cautiously through the rain. Then his eyes were closed, and all he heard before he fell asleep was, "Valentine-san, are you-"

* * *

**Interlude: A Past Memory, Re-visited**

"...Vincent," Cloud stated, nodding to the gunslinger as they both relaxed in their opposing reclining chairs. Vincent nodded back, and patiently awaited the cup of tea that Tifa was preparing in the bar room behind him.

"Cloud," he answered, and the warmth of the room lulled him into a comfort he hadn't truly felt for a while; even in the year since he'd offered to help Barret with his rebuilding project, he hadn't had the privilege of simply sitting back and relaxing. Then again, his visit was going to be rather short-lived, so he soaked in the tranquility while he still could.

"I heard from Barret that North Corel's up and running again. Is that what made you decide to come back?" he heard, and nodded slightly.

"I felt it was time to move on, mostly."

Cloud chuckled at that. "With an eternity to live, why would you think something like that?" The question held a somewhat apologetic and pitying tone to it, but Vincent didn't mind; two years ago, he would have killed Cloud for even uttering a syllable that was remotely related to his unique predicament, but the time had moved on, and he had moved on with it. Perhaps it had taken the loss of Lucrecia's final offering to make him accept his fate, or perhaps not. The reason still eluded him whenever he searched for it, but he hardly searched for it anymore, and that hardly was slowly beginning to turn into a never.

Before he could answer, Tifa emerged from the other room, three steaming cups of tea on a tray balanced in the palm of her hand, and replied, "Because, Cloud, we don't have nearly as much time as he does. He knew we were getting impatient." She turned to him and smiled as she said so, and offered him a cup. He returned her smile with a light one of his own and graciously accepted. "We would've gone after him if he'd waited any longer."

"I'm grateful you didn't. If you had, I'd still be working in the mines." They laughed, a happy and leisurely laugh, and he felt that the world was going to be a good place to live in, for all the hundreds of thousands of years that he would.

They reminisced for a long time, and by the time they were ready to sleep, the pale moon had passed far over to the east, and the first tinged hues of sunlight were poking through the sky, illuminating the horizon with a dazzling display of purples, blues, and the first pinks.

"Oh, Christ, look at the time," Cloud muttered sleepily, stretching out lazily as he attempted to leave the chair. Tifa stretched herself gracefully across the length of the sofa (they couldn't help but stare) and stood, taking their long since emptied cups, and headed back into the bar to wash them. Vincent nodded softly to her as she passed by; after a moment, he followed her into the kitchen, while Cloud said his good nights and retired to his room.

"So. Any plans for the near future?" she asked as he sat down at the dimly illuminated bar. He shrugged passively, listening quietly to the sounds of Cloud drifting swiftly into sleep.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"The romantic vagrant, eh?" she mused lightly as she stacked the clean cups into their respective cupboards.

Vincent sat in silence, simply gazing at her turned back, graceful and beautiful and inviting. When he replied, it was in a subdued voice, as if his memories were elsewhere. "Cloud's lucky you're by his side." She turned to him in surprise, though it was hardly a shocked form of surprise.

"Thanks," she answered. "Though I suppose I should be thankful to have HIM. I don't know what or where I'd be if I didn't have him around." He nodded solemnly, and suddenly there was a goal in the near future.

"You two will be happy together," he said, and kicked off the stool and headed for the door.

"You found something to do?" He nodded. "Vincent, you can stay with us if you'd like." Tifa took a step from behind the counter of her bar and grasped his human hand. "It wouldn't be any trouble, I swear." He gave her a small, affectionate smile. She seemed warmed by it and smiled back. He let her hold his hand for a moment longer, then pulled it gently from her.

"Thank you, Tifa. But there are matters I must attend to first. Once I'm done with what needs to be done, I'll make sure to come back and visit you." His hand came to rest on the butt of his rifle. He looked deeply into her burgundy eyes, saw the tears threatening to breach the surface there, and turned to leave. "I promise to come back."

She sniffed quietly behind his back, obviously trying to not let him hear; he heard it easily, as easily as he heard the soft beating of Cloud's heart in the room upstairs. Clearing her throat, the woman said, "Well, will you tell us where you're going, at least?"

"...I'm going to Lucrecia's Cavern," Vincent replied after a pause.

As he neared the door, the beautiful brunette nearly whispered, "No goodbyes, Vincent. Only 'see you later.'" The statement made him smile.

"See you later, Tifa."

After the long, short, momentarily eternal night, full of fond memories and fonder friends, came and went, he exited the warm atmosphere of the Seventh Heaven and felt the cool sun shaking away what little anxieties still remained in his soul. Perhaps he should stay longer, something in the back of his mind told him. It was a nice place, in Kalm, in the company of two of his friends. But he knew that to linger any longer would only forestall the inevitable. And for some reason, he felt – no, he knew – that the time to get going was now, while this feeling of need was still fresh in his mind.

Nodding to the early birds, he made his way west.

* * *

**Continuation: Rainy Day**

The rain the night before hadn't dissipated at all. In fact, it seemed intent on staying a couple hours longer, maybe into the next night. Her son had brought in the water-logged, drunken bastard just an hour or two ago, and she had sternly reprimanded him; it was not his business to follow strange men in the dark, much less follow THAT mess in the dark. In her fury, she had almost let the truth slip, the god-awful truth that had wormed its way back into her mind and soul and heart and consumed her whenever he was near, but at the last she held her tongue; Akira rightfully assumed that there was a secret they were keeping from him, but she would be damned before she allowed him to realize that the gun-toting madman was his grandfather.

Her husband, Katakai, carefully yet swiftly folded his kimono with calculated and precise movements, staring calmly into the glowing eastern morning. "It has only been two days since Nanaki-san arrived, and one since your fath-" A quick glare from his wife stayed his errant mouth. "...ahem. Regardless, one believes our guests should be invited to stay a bit longer. One has no business that impedes upon that of our guests, and one knows that Nanaki-san and... our other guest... are here on business that relates to you personally, not oneself." He attempted to face her, to discern any sort of emotional break, but as usual, she kept her back rigid, uniform, and unintelligible to him. "What say you, Minako?"

With careful restraint, she muttered through clenched teeth, "That wretch has no business with me. Even if he does, **I** have no business with HIM. I will not stand for his presence in my household any longer."

"And what of Akira? He is to become Emperor soon, and even you can see how much he desires to know his lineage-"

"His lineage?" she interrupted scornfully. "And what am I to tell him of his lineage? That he descends from an unnatural freak of a man? That not only did his grandfather disown the entire Kisaragi bloodline, but he also shamelessly returns, as if he had done nothing? Because of his idiocy, I have had to spend the entirety of my life washing away the stains he left upon us. Am I to tell him that, Katakai?"

Katakai nodded to himself, partly in understanding, and smoothed his kimono down before making his way to the two servants at the bedroom entrance. "Go and prepare a fresh change of clothes for our guest and Akira. When you have finished, you are free to spend the rest of the day as you please." They respectfully bowed their acknowledgement and turned down the hallway. When Katakai turned back, he gave his wife the same respectful nod of the head before replying, "One does not know what you intend to do, Minako. But consider that the gods may have appreciated your sacrifices, and are now bestowing opportunity upon you."

Stubborn silence was her response, but he didn't pursue the matter any further. It would not be of particularly good health to try to persuade her any more than he already had.

* * *

"...and the mighty warrior Valentine freed his beast upon the enemy, and, as if possessed by the Razgriz, rained death upon them." Nanaki's voice drifted away, leaving his tale unfinished, as Vincent woke up. The weariness from the previous night's excursion had almost lifted, but he still found it difficult to reposition his limbs. He moved his eyes in the direction of Nanaki's voice, catching first the swaying ember of his tail, and then the warm and wise eyes of the canine. Nanaki smiled that uniquely canine smile of his and continued, "The children loved that story when they were still young. 'Gramps, what happened to Valentine after the great battle?' they asked, all the time. And whenever I told them, they would gaze at me, amazed and inspired, and afterwards they would play around Cosmo Candle, fighting over who got the right to be 'The Mighty Vincent.'"

"You told them lies about me."

"Not necessarily, Vincent. I told them a legend about a man that was courageous, upright, and goodhearted, in spite of great tragedy." Vincent dragged himself to a sitting position, but the effort cost him a deep, heavy breath. As he sat, collecting himself, the image of the Jenova remnant played through his mind over and over again, until he could no longer ignore it. Looking at Nanaki, he could tell that he suspected something out of the ordinary.

"...would you believe me if I told you that the 'great tragedy' you spoke of visited me last night?" He said at last, and as the words dispersed into the morning air, he watched Nanaki's face carefully for any reaction. The dog seemed perplexed at this most recent turn of events.

Finally, he responded, "What do you mean?"

"I was attacked by a part of Jenova last night, and it came to me in the form of Lucrecia." He saw something flicker in Nanaki's blazing yellow-hued eyes, some memory. "What is it? What do you know?"

Nanaki sighed, padded over, and sat down by Vincent's feet. "I'm puzzled, that's all. You say you were attacked by Jenova?" _You're hiding something,_ Vincent knew, but he nodded in response to the question. "I thought we had eradicated the Jenova strain after Cloud died. It must have been a Foulander or some other-"

"It was Jenova, Nanaki. No other creature could've caused Chaos to become so enraged."

Nanaki furrowed his brows, and Vincent caught his words too late. "Chaos? ...Vincent, what's happened to you since you woke up?"

As the door to the room opened and a maid entered, carrying a fresh change of clothes for the gunslinger, Vincent smiled a dry, humorless smile. "I believe whatever Hojo cursed me with still hasn't worn off yet. I need a way back to Corel."

"Why?"

He took the clothes and dismissed the servant. "It was the last place I saw her. She was injected with Jenova. She gave birth to Sephiroth. She gave Chaos to me. She was the beginning of all of this. Even if she's dead, she must be able to tell me something." With that said, the gunslinger rose and made for the door. He felt a small, familiar, and pleasant feeling, and it struck him that he wasn't too begrudging of its being there. "So, are you coming, or will I have to swim?"

With a flick of the tail, Nanaki answered, "That depends. Should I tell my great-grandchildren the tale of mighty Vincent's second quest, or of his demise?"

"I'll tell you what's happened to me on the way there. You can decide whether that's a good start to the legend or not."

* * *

**Chapter Six: Rainy Night END**

A/N: Reading, I think this is the chapter where my narrative started transforming from third-person omniscient to third-person limited. (From telling a scene through many characters' minds to telling a scene through one character's mind.) I just thought that was neat.

There was also a major continuity error that I hopefully fixed. Hopefully.

**Notes:**

Shrine Pillars – The gates that Vincent comes across during the first part of this chapter come from traditional Shinto (and some Buddhist) temples, which used these gates to ward off demons, amongst other purposes.

Papaya salad – A dish common in Southeast Asian cuisine. It is most often prepared by cutting papaya into noodle-like strips (the process of doing this is mighty fun to watch, and to participate in, as long as you have good hand-eye coordination), and mashing it slightly with a mix of lemon, fish sauce, sugar, garlic, and peppers. In Hmong, it is known as quab (pronounced "qulow", with the qul sound coming from the very back of the throat), which literally means "sour".

"...he saw a piece of oozing flesh crawling around his fingers, with a large, blinking eye..." – In many ways, this Jenova monster drew its inspiration from the Soul Edge used by Nightmare in the _Soulcalibur_ series.

Katakai – Katakai's speech is a variation upon that of Himura Kenshin from the manga series, _Rurouni Kenshin_. Kenshin's speech in the English translation of the manga goes something along the lines of "This one thinks so-and-so, Milord So-and-so," and I wanted one of my characters to have that same poetic formality. Katakai was the male character most suitable for that type of speech.

Razgriz – In the video game, _Ace Combat 5: The Unsung War_, Razgriz is the name of the demon of legend. In the legend, Razgriz appears in times of great change and "uses its strength to rain death upon the land."


	7. The Waves of Time

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

The ship rocked up and down, and Nuboko was horribly dismayed as he stared at the fuel expenses. _I'm gonna go broke if I keep giving free rides like this._ He looked back toward the stern, and the dismay strengthened just the tiniest bit as he saw the gunslinger's golden claw arm reflecting the sunlight. _Creepy_, he noted, before bringing his attention back to the nodding waves in front of him.

The man was certainly an enigma; that he was certain of. His name had been revealed to him just recently – Vincent Valentine – and from what he had been able to glean from ojiisan, he was an old friend of the old dog. Still, Nuboko didn't feel the most comfortable about him; he had a draw that made others trust him, but also a menace that made them shy away. He could tell when the mysterious man was near, because there was some sort of aura surrounding him that made his hair stand on end. In fact, he seemed almost demonic – the tattered and vermillion-stained cloak, gothic attire, and unsettlingly brilliant eyes couldn't possibly have been of this world. He had heard the legends of warriors so powerful that their energy flowed forth from their eyes, but those were just legends; Valentine surely wasn't anything over thirty years of age, and he doubted even that. So why did his eyes flare up with such intensity?

Valentine had come to him on the Rocket Town ports in the dead of night, seeking passage to Wutai. He had spoken in an old, overtly respectful dialect, and Nuboko was instantly intrigued. The air surrounding Valentine would've made him deny his request like anybody else whom he suspected, but the man's demeanor – at once relaxed and quietly commanding – made him accept him.

Later, during the light thunderstorm, he had told Minamikaze, one of his few crewmen, to check up on the wandering gunslinger. The response he received upon Kaze's return was simply, "He says he's okay up there." And when he returned to the deck the next morning after the storm had subsided, Kaze's words were proven correct – Valentine was no worse for the wear.

He let out a sharp, frustrated sigh and went to observe the charts. They wouldn't arrive back in town until tomorrow morning, and there were some nasty clouds building in the distance. He wanted to get out of their path, and that would be putting a strain on the fuel.

Kaze opened the door and asked him some trivial question. Nuboko felt slightly more at ease with the intrusion; he would worry about the gunslinger later. For now, he only had to deal with the economics and the thunderstorm coming up ahead.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Seven: The Waves of Time

"_A place to return to... The fact that you have a home will lead to your happiness."_  
- _Nagisa Kaworu_, Neon Genesis Evangelion

* * *

There were few things that irritated him more than seawater splashing into his fur, and the encroaching thunderstorm from the north was one of those things. Nanaki paced back and forth underneath the cover of an unused sail, flicking off droplets of sea spray whenever an errant wave struck the small ship. Vincent, for his part, seemed fine with the undulating motions of the water. _Bipeds,_ he fumed. _It's a wonder they can balance easier on two legs than I can on four._ He cast cursory glances at Vincent's continually brooding form and continued to pace. There had been few words spoken between the two since that morning, and none of it regarding the circumstances leading up to Vincent's reawakening.

"_No other creature could've caused Chaos to become so enraged."_ He searched his memories for Chaos. There had been few times in which he had seen Chaos in battle, and there had been no mention of the fiend in any of the texts he had read in the subsequent decades. He had long since come to assume that the creature was another physical manifestation of Vincent's psychology – Galian Beast represented his animal ferocity, Death Gigas his base destructive tendencies, Hellmasker his calculating coldness, and Chaos his... chaos, turmoil.

But the way Vincent described it made Chaos seem not like part of his being, but an entirely separate thing altogether. And Vincent himself had told him that Chaos was simply a shade of his existence, those many years ago, which meant that this separation couldn't have taken place until very recently. _Perhaps this is what caused him to awaken,_ he mused. He cast another glance at Vincent, and the gunslinger piqued up. He instantly averted his gaze, but Vincent was obviously interested now. He continued his musings, as Vincent still had a fairly shaky length of boat to cross.

Chaos had mentioned Lucrecia in his dream. Lucrecia, the ever-mysterious scientist and mother of Sephiroth. As Vincent had said, she was the beginning of all of this. From what little information he had on her, he knew that she had been Hojo's wife, been the object of Vincent's affection, and had given birth to Sephiroth. He assumed that she had also died, those thirty or so years later, in that Mako-saturated, glittering cavern. Of course, he hadn't been there to witness Vincent's impromptu discussion with her; everything he had learned had come from hearsay. He certainly hadn't thought anything of it, except to question Vincent once after the Meteor incident.

What role did she play in this set of events?

"What is it?" came the request that severed through his thoughts.

The question went unanswered for a bit as Nanaki continued to pace, collecting his thoughts. Finally, he said, "What can you tell me about Hojo and Lucrecia?"

Vincent pondered the question, then responded, formulaically, "Hojo was the head of the Soldier Enhancement and Mako Permeation – Extended Resistance by Foreign Instillation Program, otherwise known as SEMPER FI. The main goal of the program was to increase the effectiveness of Shinra's military force – which, at the time, included the progenitors of SOLDIER, the Ravens, as well as especially talented members of the Turks. It was a hotbed for human experimentation.

"After Jenova was discovered by Professor Gast, Shinra integrated it into almost every part of its research and development departments. SEMPER FI was no exception. Before, test subjects were simply infused with Mako in various ways, and almost all were afflicted with mild Mako poisoning. After the use of Jenova cells was approved by Shinra's executives, Hojo decided to rethink his experiments with Jenova as a key component, and dubbed this the Jenova Project. The eventual product of it was Sephiroth."

"And what did Lucrecia have to do with this?"

Again, Vincent was silent. "...I didn't know her personally until well after I was stationed as her personal guard. She was a relatively low-level scientist working under Hojo until they... became romantically involved. She graduated with honors from the Midgar Academy of the Biological Sciences, and made sparse but detailed discoveries about the history of the Planet. I assumed Hojo recruited her because of her focus on the unexplored, almost hypothetical chapters of Planet history.

"...she offered herself to the Jenova Project after she helped Gast discover the connection between Jenova and the Ancients." After the long-winded speech, Vincent once again sank into his quiet solitude.

"And the rest?" Vincent simply looked at him. "Ah. Fair enough." He could tell that it had been hard for the man to have said even this much. "That doesn't explain any of this, though. How does it relate to you? Is there anything you remember about your… alterations?" Vincent curtly emphasized the negative. _That certainly doesn't come as a surprise. You're pushing the envelope, asking him so many personal questions. And he certainly isn't becoming any more sociable._ Nanaki paced more fretfully as he struggled vainly to understand this. The small history of Hojo and Lucrecia didn't shed any more light on the current situation. The only clues he still had were Lucrecia, Jenova, and Chaos. Somehow, those three were tied together.

* * *

Nanaki paced fretfully, and he could tell that the dog was struggling to garner further clues from the limited information he'd just given him. "Nanaki," he said with a touch of remorse. "How did you know that I had woken?"

That seemed to calm the dog a bit, bringing him to the realm of the known. "Chaos appeared to me in a dream – it was a rather nice dream, too, until he appeared – and uttered her name to me." _So that's why you were so riled up when I mentioned Chaos._ "It proved a valuable omen. I made my way to Nibelheim, and after I learned you weren't there, I followed your trail. By the time I realized you had gone to Wutai, I made arrangements with young Nuboko to get there ahead of you. In fact, I only arrived a few hours before you."

_So, Chaos... what are you plotting?_ He searched for the demon, and was surprised to find it slumbering in the deep recesses of his memories. It had never been apart from him before. It had never felt like a separate **entity** before.

The notion was extremely unnerving.

"And what Minako said this morning..." he began. "She said she experienced an eerie event just days before I arrived. Did she tell you about this?"

Nanaki nodded and answered, "Yes. I simply thought it foreshadowed the... turbulence you two would experience." He sighed heavily. "Now, however, I am not so sure."

Vincent nodded.

Neither spoke for a long time, deeply collected in their own thoughts. Vincent stared out into the foam and water, feeling the wind tickle his hair and clothes. The waves looked just as they did fifty years ago, as they did thirty years before that, as they did when he was still only a child, dashing along the beach and brandishing a tree branch like a regal sword. His hair had been shorter then, but the wind had blown through it the same then as it did now, and the familiar scent of sea salt wafted into his nose.

He closed his eyes and felt a deep sense of tranquility that he hadn't felt in over half a decade. _Time has moved on since then,_ he said to himself, _but the world is still the same._

* * *

**Interlude: A Day of Learning**

He had been learning the difficult language for a year now. Yuffie drew no small amount of satisfaction from his troubles, teasing him constantly whenever he pronounced a word wrong. Yet she also seemed to derive the same amount of joy from his mastery of more and more of the language and customs. As he helped protect the family from the few overzealous critics and many overzealous supporters, she in turn taught him more and more about the culture and history of Wutai. He soon found himself thoroughly engaged in Wutai's mythology, from the adventures of Leviathan to the teachings of Da Chao.

The days passed slowly, and as each one came and went, his memories of Shinra made way for those of Wutai. After the four hundred thirty-first day he had lived there, the nightmares no longer came. He had woken up that morning feeling at a strange peace, and for the next couple days, he couldn't discern the reason for it.

The days passed slowly, and each one was more or less exactly like the one before it. But each day was still unique; he learned something different every day, and always from Yuffie. She was the single constant, she and her Wutai, and he soon found himself expecting her daily rude wake-up schemes.

The days passed slowly, and every day she woke him up in the most imaginable ways possible. He often wondered how she could continue to devise something new each and every day, and to his inquisitions she would always put on a coy, enigmatic smirk, tap her temple with a finger, and simply say that she was crafty. He eventually learned that this was, for the most part, completely true.

On one such occasion, she had set up an exceedingly simple trap: using an imperceptible wire, she gathered and bound his long strands of hair. With a quick sprinkle of a spray bottle to his face, she succeeded in waking him up, tired though he was.

"...what is it now, Yuffie?" he demanded in a sleep-drunk yet still monotonous tone. The young girl smirked that evil smirk she always had and giggled lightly to herself while straddling his prone hips. In his half-lidded stupor, he could discern something metallic in her grip. A disapproving grimace forming on his face, he tried to remove the blur from his eyes and focus on the foreboding instrument of malevolence in her grasp. There was a _snip!-snip!_ and she brought her other hand up.

In one hand was a pair of scissors, and in the other she held his long frock of hair, tugging lightly on it to prove that it was really his. His eyes widened in shock, and he was instantly at attention. "I think you need a haircut, Vinnie," she whispered sweetly to him. He tried to move, but his limbs were still tired and didn't feel up to the task.

"Yuffie, what do you think you're doing?" Ignoring his question, she toyed with his bound hair before bringing the scissors to them. "No, Yuffie-"

Without warning, she swept the scissors through his locks. At the same moment, he finally bolted upward, determined to stop her desecration of his hair. There was a twang as something snapped, and suddenly he was face to face with her. They were suddenly very close, much closer than he would have liked, and they were staring intently into each other's eyes, embarrassment flooding each other's faces. His hair fell back to its place, without a single loose hair, and her grip on the scissors was lost and it fell to the tatami with a dull thud.

A blush was slowly forming on her cheeks, and he could feel her entire body radiating heat. She was completely pressed against him, and it felt surprisingly natural. He was lost for a moment.

Then something poked up inside his sleeping attire, and the moment was broken.

With a crimson flush threatening to overheat her face, she shrieked into his face. "OH MY GOD! Y-y-y-y-y-you... OH MY GOD YOU JUST... YOU **PERV**!" Thoroughly incensed, he gripped the hem of her pink kimono and briskly tossed her into the hallway.

Landing in a mess of limbs and humiliation, the girl quickly staggered to her feet and shook her head violently, trying her hardest to forget what had turned into a thoroughly embarrassing and humiliating incident. She slammed the door shut and, cursing him to the depths of hell and beyond, rushed down the hallway.

He sat there in silence for a while longer, now fully awake. Finally, and with the greatest effort, he pulled himself off the futon.

"...great."

The days passed slowly, and he found himself more at ease than ever.

* * *

**There Was Almost No Swell on the Sea**

The world was still the same, but the people in it certainly weren't. After a few minutes, he stated, "Nanaki. I believe it's time you knew what happened to me."

Nanaki nodded. "That's probably best for both of us."

He began with the abrupt awakening a week past and continued on, unabated, until he had included every detail of his encounter with the Jenova remnant. At the close of his second extended oration, Vincent looked out at the upcoming storm. This one would be worse than the one he experienced before.

For his part, Nanaki seemed composed enough. "Vincent," he began, then halted, indecisive.

Vincent sat down at the edge of the small ship, leaning on the raised partition intended to keep sailors from falling overboard. "What have you learned about Chaos, Nanaki?"

Nanaki nodded, deeming it a worthy course of discussion. "Unfortunately, I've never found any records of Chaos in all the texts left to me by Bugenhagen. I did learn a great deal about the relationship between the Lifestream and the human psyche, and I had simply assumed that Hojo somehow managed to bring out and physically manifest the different parts of your Turk training – the animalistic, feral, calculating, and chaotic elements of your personality." As he revealed this, he carefully regarded Vincent for any signs of distress. There was only a calm, if somewhat overcast, air around him. "I never assumed that Hojo could have introduced Chaos into your body like he did Jenova." That made him pause for a moment. Vincent also considered this, and he could feel some sort of disturbing possibility being formed. It was obscene, but...

_Chaos despises Jenova. Did Hojo put it in me because he knew that?_ But no, it wasn't possible. Lucrecia had given Chaos to him. "It wasn't Hojo," he muttered. "It was Lucrecia..."

A relatively strong wave rocked the boat, but neither of them paid it any heed; their attention was completely focused elsewhere. "You said that Lucrecia just... gave you Chaos. What do you mean by that?"

After a moment, he realized that he didn't exactly know. Struggling to find the words, Vincent wracked his memory for that second visit to her cave, for every single sensation that went along with it, for every minute detail that would give him some sort of clue. _Clues, clues... there are never enough clues._ Carefully, slowly, he answered, "I... simply felt her presence. As I entered, I felt her dissipate... Yes, that's it. When she was gone, Chaos took her place." It was a cryptic answer at best, but it was hardly far from the truth.

Their deep palaver was interrupted by Nuboko, who announced over the crash of the waves, "Excuse me, ojiisan, Valentine-san! I'm sure you've noticed that storm approaching us. Well, it doesn't seem to be slowing down at all, and we can't go around it with the fuel we have. Would you two like to come down?" He quickly added, "It's not a very severe storm. A bit worse than the one you experienced, Valentine-san, but it's nothing we can't handle."

After affirming that they'd be down in just a moment, Nanaki turned back to Vincent. Nuboko lingered a bit longer, however, and seemed anxious to speak. "What is it, young Nuboko?"

Nuboko looked slightly embarrassed, but consented. "We detected something really big about thirty miles to the north and headed our way. I think it's probably just a dragon shark, but I still want to get away from it. We want to make a push into the storm in half an hour. Hopefully, it'll lose interest in us."

Something about that seemed strange to Vincent. He knew dragon sharks were acutely sensitive, but they didn't search for humans. Not like this. A vertiginous feeling sank into the pit of his stomach.

The sea no longer stirred. They were approaching the storm. There was no longer any wind, no sea spray sprinkling him. The smell of sea salt was gone. Looking out, he felt as if the sea would swallow him up, as if the creature approaching them would leap up at any moment, its mouth as wide as the feeble vessel he was on, its millions of razor teeth scintillating with water and blood in the dwindling sunlight. _You let her die, Vincent._

But then he realized that the world was still there, the storm still approaching, the boat still continuing on its path. Hastily, he blurted out, "We can't."

Both Nuboko and Nanaki looked at him questioningly. "What did you say, Valentine-san?" Nuboko asked innocently. Nanaki, however, knew something was wrong; their relationship was such that he would.

"What's wrong, Vincent? What is it?"

There was nothing wrong. The despair was already going away; he had likely simply relapsed into one of his nightmares for a moment. The voice had simply been Chaos toying with him. That was all it was. He shook his head. "Never mind. It was nothing." Nuboko gave him an odd look before nodding and heading back.

"Vincent. What just happened?" He shook his head again, trying and failing to forget the sinking feeling in his stomach. "Is it the thing Nuboko talked about?"

He gazed out into the deep open waters. Under the shadow of the storm clouds, something was stirring. He felt a hideous draw to it, a perverse urge to join it in the depths of the thunder and rain and murk.

Shaking his head, he answered, "I don't know." Something was in his hand, and he realized that he was gripping the Death Penalty. With a grievous effort, he loosened his fingers and turned to head back into the belly of the ship. As he passed Nanaki, he instructed, "Be on your guard."

* * *

The storm was fierce. Almost immediately after they entered the cabin hold, torrential rains pelted the small transport craft as it chopped through the ballistic waves. Lightning scorched the screeching sky like the lances of otherworldly warriors, and thunder sounded as their shields crashed against each other. The ocean no longer seemed to be a force of nature, but instead guided and twisted by mischievous imps.

The sense of dread that built in his stomach seemed to him a leaden weight, and with every violent throe of the ship, it sank deeper and deeper, as if the water were pushing down on it, pushing him down into maddening misery.

In the same room, Cirrus and Ruana did their best to weather the storm, but even they could sense the overwhelmingly bleak aura that he exuded in his solitude. Nanaki, however, was having a hard time simply standing, as the jerky movements of the vessel further hampered his attempts to balance. It would have been almost comical, had he not had other things to worry and mull over.

Nearly an hour into the storm, Kaze came bounding into the room. "Valentine-san, Nuboko-tōshu wants to speak to you. If you'll c'mon this way, please." There was a crack of lightning through the window, illuminating a large wave in the distance. Nodding, he rose to follow, but the sick feeling in his gut made him stagger to the side before regaining balance. Looking around, he was glad to find out that nobody seemed to notice.

As he entered the cockpit, Nuboko flashed him a heavy glare mingled with a strong, frightful fear. "What the hell did you do!?" he yelled over the thunder and wind. "You knew this would happen! You knew this storm was going to get worse!" A particularly strong gust of wind blew from the starboard side, and the ship keeled so far over that Vincent thought it'd capsize. After regaining control, the man of the sea shoved a small handheld device at Vincent. "Tell me what the FUCK that is!" he exclaimed, jabbing an accusatory finger at the instrument. Vincent stared at the small screen on it, which depicted a green circle with a wispy line tracing a path from its radius around its circumference. It was the sonar.

There was a large dot on it.

The feeling burst into an all-out attack, and he almost reeled back as he realized that his bad premonition had come to pass.

The dot was drawing closer and closer, and as it came within a hundred meters of the ship, he could sense a presence inside his head. _You let her die, you let her die, you let her die,_ it continually whispered to him, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't ignore it.

"Go faster. Do it, now," he ordered.

Nuboko shook his head, furious. "We'll be in even more danger if we go faster!" Vincent turned to him, and he suddenly felt the cold, impervious Turk come to bear on the young sailor.

"Do it or everybody will die." But even as those words escaped his lips, he saw that the... thing was already upon them.

Speaking in a hushed tone to Kaze, as if speaking too loudly would prompt whatever had stopped in the murky depths beneath them to move, Nuboko commanded, "Get Osaka and the others. Level 1 Alert. Heavy weapons." And as an afterthought, "Let's hope it's not Leviathan coming to punish us for all that shit we've trafficked."

The others had apparently sensed something amiss as well, and they came rushing up the stairs, confused and seeking an explanation. The wind suddenly ceased, and the water settled down, its surface broken only by the massive rain pouring down.

As if summoned by the ocean itself, everyone made it out onto the deck. The crew were scrambling, assembling massive turrets and fiddling with giant crates of rocket launchers. Cirrus was rummaging through another set of boxes, trying to find his immense weapon. Nanaki stood stock-still in the middle of the deck, his fur standing on end, his fangs bared and tail flickering nervously. The voice inside his head was screaming now, accusing him, repeating that simple mantra over and over again. Everyone was panicking. He shivered ever so slightly, his grip on the Death Penalty fumbling and unsure.

A low groan issued from beneath them, traveling through the ship's hull and into their body, freezing everybody in their actions. It sounded like the dying moans of some slumbering beast. As it grew louder, eventually filling his ears with its deafening monotony, the water around the transport seemed to sway.

And before their startled eyes, the sea to the starboard side rose, swollen and fat, and something giant, something obscenely hideous sped up to the surface. With the sound of a flaring symphony of rain, thunder, and light, the massive beast broke through the surface of the water. Lightning cracked and lit the entire scene in stop-motion clarity, the pulsing lights reflecting off its wet and dripping purple skin.

Its massive frame stretched the length of the ship. Its head was covered by a thick, durable slab of bone or armored plating, which extended up into a flat top and ended just underneath its chin; it was streamlined to slip easily through the water. Deep rivets in the armor exposed its eyes, twin orbs of hellish orange that shone an evil mark in the obsidian blue sky. The same orange glow emanated from its mouth, where the bony material didn't grow.

The same protective layer wrapped around its midsection, with the largest and thickest on either side of its face. These seemed almost ornamental, as there were deep parallel grooves running down both columns. Four pairs of gills intersected these grooves and throbbed in unison, exposing the pink, salmon-like flesh underneath. A large, glowing orange jewel pulsated in the center of its "chest." Extending from its body were two large, scaly chunks of flesh. They reached outward and sloped down, but the flickering light gave him little clues as to what they were.

The only sounds that were heard were the wind, which had picked up again, the waves, and the thunderstorm. They stared intently at the gruesome figure, and it likewise gazed with cruel calculation at them.

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Waves of Time END**

A/N: As Chapters 8-13 were written rather recently, I'll save editing those for another time. Maybe once my writing style changes... yet again.

**Notes:**

The Waves of Time – "Amidst the eternal waves of time, / From a ripple of change shall the storm rise. / Out of the abyss peer the eyes of a demon. / Behold the Razgriz, its wings of black sheath." – _Ace Combat 5_, "The Legend of Razgriz"

Minamikaze (Kaze) – "Minami Kaze" ("The Southern Wind") is the theme song for _Full Metal Panic!: The Second Raid_ ("Kaze" means "wind"). I chose it simply because I needed a name to fill the role of Nuboko's crewman, and I happened to be listening to "Tomorrow," the first season theme song. I thought it'd be strange to name someone that, so I chose this instead. It has no real meaning, of course.

SEMPER FI – "Semper fidelis," meaning "always faithful." This phrase is the slogan of the US Marine Corps. No affiliation or allusion to the US military is intended. Besides, Marines rock hardcore.

The Ravens – From the little that I know, the Ravens are members of a covert operations group much like the Turks, introduced in Before Crisis. This in-story group has no affiliation to the canon one, just as this story has no affiliation to the canon Compilation stories.

"There was almost no swell on the sea." – _Vampire Hunter D: _"Volume 7: Mysterious Journey to the North Sea, Part One," p. 140.

Dragon shark – A species of shark defined by its long, elegant fins and especially large and powerful mouth similar to a prehistoric Liopleurodon. The dragon sharks around Wutai are known to be especially big, with adults averaging at over twenty meters (roughly 65 ft.) in length. (By comparison, the largest whale shark recorded was about 13 meters (43 ft.) in length, and the humpback whale is about 12-16 meters (40-50 ft.) long.) Dragon sharks are commonly found in the open sea, and their depth range reaches down to the ocean floor, though they only go there to escape a predator, which is a rare occurrence. Dragon sharks typically don't attack humans, as doing so requires far too much effort for too small a reward.

Toshu – leader. In my original draft, I had used "hanchou," which seemed more suited to the military.

Ship Terminology – Here are some of the basic terms to refer to the different part of a ship, for those of you that don't know.

Aft – Front of the vessel  
Stern – Rear of the vessel  
Starboard – Looking from the back of the ship to the front, it's the right-hand side  
Port – From the same position, the left-hand side  
Deck – The place where everybody walks around and does their fishing  
Cabin (Hold) – The room/cavity underneath the deck  
Cockpit – The cockpit

If you are familiar with these terms and know that I have misinterpreted them, please let me know so that I can fix it. I myself am not too familiar with these terms.

The Monster – Design elements draw heavily from the aquatic WEAPON seen in-game (basic design) and Bahamut SIN (the "vest" is incorporated). The Leviathan summon also influenced the design. There's a "sail" on its back that's derived from the Spinosaurus. The rear flippers are exceedingly large, much like the giant flippers of the Liopleurodon seen in _Walking With Dinosaurs_. The Third Angel Sachiel (_Neon Genesis Evangelion_), the Kraken (_Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_), and the Taurus mobile suit (_Gundam Wing_) were models for the design of the gills, tail, and head, respectively.


	8. The Lucid Waters of Temptation and Doubt

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

Thor's blades, slashing molten thunder  
Through stark bullets down asunder  
She saw him, eyes illuminated in the darkness.

Sluicing aqua, birth of menacing frame  
In depths unfathomed housing her lost name  
She saw him, mane eddying in the darkness.

Freak mutation, both terra firma and vacuous sky  
Monolith of polished lavender dye  
She saw him, muscles tensed in the darkness.

Unseen, unseemly demon's glaring might,  
Riddled in rage, and death's endless flight  
She saw him, Chaos churning in the darkness.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Eight: The Lucid Waves of Temptation and Doubt

_Every breath you take  
Every move you make  
Every bond you break  
Every step you take_

_I'll be watching you_

_- Sting, _I'll Be Watching You

* * *

There was a storm brewing to the east. Try as she might, Minako couldn't help but glance at it with some form of trepidation; she chided herself for succumbing to some romantic notion of concern for that maggot of a man known as Vincent Valentine. _Nanaki-san and the young ones are crossing that sea as well. It's only natural that I'm concerned for their health._ A sentiment that was certainly true; however, just as with the storm, she couldn't help but linger upon that accursed man.

He had left just that morning, and, for some daft reason, she had followed Katakai's words and addressed him as he made his way onto the small shipping vessel.

She was severely regretting it right now.

_I hate him,_ she told herself again, and the mantra repeated itself as if recycled through her system, slashing abruptly through her thoughts of yet another business dealing that would "strengthen Wutai's economy." As if Wutai didn't already have enough economy.

What it needed was strength.

_Strength..._ she mused numbly, even as words and gestures were ushered forth with absent-minded second nature. _He had... has strength._ A long summertime walk along the stream path... it was an alien vision to her, yet it also seemed so vivid, so astoundingly clear that she was struck into believing it for a moment.

Vincent led a young girl, barely of walking age, and they traveled through the natural beauty of Wutai; she stooped down by the creek and gaped at the fish and snails and small crustaceans, and he watched with a detached but meaningful demeanor, unconsciously toying with the sleeve of his evening-hued kimono.

The sense of protection, of freedom, was seductively tempting, but then it disappeared and she faced reality. _He has nothing. He is a sad, pathetic wretch who has nothing more to do with this world. Wutai is strong without him._ But as she brought her attention back, she suddenly felt like she was taking in the scene presented to her for the first time – businessmen crowded the room, corporate representatives from countries so far away that they had no reason to be there at all; there were the sounds of papers being passed around and straightened, of pens scraping across sheets, scribbling down notes or signing names. The foreign entities, these strange nemeses, were strangling Wutai and its heritage, its glorious past.

_You need him back._ The voice was that of a young girl, barely two years old, but she knew whose voice it was, and she suddenly felt a strong surge of rage, not at the estranged man called her father but at these squabbling buffoons dressed in business suits and the flags of corruption.

When she returned to herself, she found that she was holding her seal, its heavy underside encased in thick ink, poised over some form dictating some plot of land to be cultivated and turned into some object of mass tourism. She had to sign this form, did she not? The coaxing words of the man across the table from her had sounded so logical and sensible before, but what were they? It was hard to remember what he had said; he seemed so much like all the others.

Her grip paused in the air, as if held up by an invisible string. Why was she hesitating now? What was wrong? She felt the world swirling around her, justified hatred stirring at the heart of her soul.

_...Father..._

The wooden block tumbled out of her hand; her head pitched forward, but she immediately stopped it with the palm of her hand and massaged it. Her hand felt cool to the touch.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" Their stench wafted over her as they sprang to their feet in alarm, breaking so many laws of etiquette that she nearly gagged.

"Y-yes, I'm fine." She composed herself as best as she could and motioned them to sit back down, herself coming to her feet. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I am feeling somewhat ill today." She noticed with disguised disgust the quick look of apprehension that passed across their countenances – one even reached up to feel his forehead. She certainly wouldn't be dealing with this corporation, this association, this whatever the hell it was, anymore. "Perhaps we can conclude this business matter tomorrow." Bowing and resisting the urge to vomit, she hurriedly exited the conference room.

Taka gave her a contemplative look as she accompanied her home, weaving through the forest path. "What's wrong, milady?" she inquired.

Minako leaned lightly on the young woman and worked the reply in her mind. Taka was her trusted servant and confidant, and she could be trusted with secrets. She loved Taka partly because of that; no one besides her husband would have been allowed to refer to her so informally. "I've a mild headache, Taka. Nothing more." She smiled a little bit, though it strained her. "Though another minute with those fools would have affected me for the worse."

Taka chuckled lightheartedly and shouldered more of the queen's weight. "I understand completely, milady."

With a disheartened sigh, Minako paused. "Taka, do you believe me to be a good queen?"

"Milady! That's hardly a question to ask me-"

She smiled. _Such a typical response._ "Ignore formalities for now, Taka. Be honest with me, dear."

Taka fidgeted slightly. Then, hesitatingly, she responded, "I think you have done much to make Wutai rich, milady."

"Rich, but not strong, yes?" When she didn't receive an answer, she nudged the young woman again.

"...it's not my place, milady."

"It certainly is. I don't mind, Taka. Answer me." As an afterthought, she added, "Be honest."

"...I was surprised... and delighted that milady did not sign the contract today."

The forward comment struck Minako off-guard, but she accepted it with gratitude. Turning to stare at the stream that passed by the gravel path, words escaped her lips before she knew she had spoken them. "I have always felt that what I did was best for Wutai. But after meeting him again, I..." Then, as if catching herself on the verge of exposing a conspiracy, she stated, "Let us depart, Taka."

Taka nodded at her and gently led her back. "Do you feel any better, milady?"

"Not at all." As they passed through a clearing in the woods, she once again made out the storm brewing in the distant sea. When the dizziness fluctuated with the swirling of the clouds, she abruptly looked away.

"There is something foul in the air."

* * *

Lances made of white-hot light struck against shifting, hazy shields, crashing and spilling translucent droplets of blood on those assembled below the heavens. The sea creature gazed menacingly like a god struck down from the battle above, and Vincent felt a cold chill pass through his veins as he met its eyes, those evil, hellish eyes. They flared with an intelligence that belied its beastly figure, and as the dramatic entrance dragged on for an eternity, he somehow knew that it was staring directly at him. _A creature of the unknown...a harbinger of death... a dark harbinger._ "Jenova..." he whispered.

_Yes..._ came a reply from inside him; accompanying it was a perverse draw to the thing displayed before him. _It has no blind spots. It is a work of the heavens; you cannot defeat it._ The voice whispered to him, alluring and coy, but also menacing.

Without warning, a massive jolt pounded his eardrums, splitting through the crackle of ancient warriors overhead. A large bolt punched through the air like a giant torpedo and slammed into the creature's thick hide. It flickered off with a harsh metallic clang, trailing large sparks in its wake. The Jenova monster didn't budge, its golden eyes fixed solely upon him.

"Shoot the damn thing!" Nuboko cried, tossing the giant harpoon gun carelessly to the side even as another wave threatened his balance, and grasped a long, forked spear from underneath a cloth wrap. There was a thin hum followed by harsh blasts as burning projectiles spewed forth from the ship's crewmen; they slammed into the Jenova with titanic force and spewed their fires into the moist air. Smoke and embers dangled in the darkness, penetrated only by the intense gaze of its flashing eyes.

Unfazed, it slowly began to roll its head forward, its thick, circular head, and opened its mouth as if to laugh. The rain-distorted sky began to waver, the water droplets quickly evaporating back into the clouds they came from. He saw its mouth gape open to swallow him, and he felt that same sickening attraction, a part of his unearthly being wanting to join that creature in the depths of the sea.

Nanaki howled and a green orb on one foreleg suddenly sparked, thick tendrils of Lifestream emanating and spreading out across his fur. The crew gasped in awe, but Vincent was entrapped by the beast's stare, its beckoning and mocking eyes.

Then, as if to break him from his trance, fire erupted all around the ship – in the air, the water, even in the heavenly blood that splattered into the seas – entrapping it in a sphere of flames, and caved in with mindless disregard. _Vincent, you fool!_ he reprimanded himself, pulling the tattered remains of his cloak around his face. The magical flames approached...

...and then there was another distortion; the fire itself seemed to waver, and as it approached the ship, it swirled like a heat mirage and disappeared into thin air. An unearthly howl brought his attention back to the Jenova, and some invisible power suddenly shoved it back, jets of flame trailing its burning face. Waves formed in the large displacement of water, and the ship once again rocked heavily back and forth before becoming somewhat settled. The Jenova charged forward and snarled at this futile excuse for resistance.

Finally spurred into action, Vincent forced his hand onto the Death Penalty and readied and fired off two screeching, dreadful blasts in quick succession. The twin rounds tore across the rain-slicked sky and ripped into its open gills, mixing a sick spray of blue-green with the clear liquid in the sky. "Aim for its gills!" yelled Nuboko, one hand grasping the railing to keep balance as he pulled back the twin-pronged spear in his other hand. "Take this!" His muscles tensed in one giant motion as he hurled the thin, metallic fork. The giant crimson spear suddenly leapt forward at an impossible velocity, arcing over the waves and slamming into the beast's left side, directly beneath the oozing wound from Vincent's rifle. There was a crack, and then a tear as something abruptly pulled through something else.

The glowing scarlet javelin exited the Jenova's body and dove into the sea behind it, accompanied by a high-pitched wail. A head-sized path had been bored into its side, and thick blood rushed out. With calculated precision, the crewmen opened fire on the new opening, large harpoons and explosives tearing off chunks of flesh. Green light glinted from both Ruana and Cirrus, and two heavenly bolts speared into and singed the monster's wound. Nanaki, still tense and taut, held his ground on the center of the deck, growling in concentration. They pressed their advantage, eliciting screeching wails and slowly driving the creature back as they pounded the wounded area.

Then twin blades, ebony in the lightning-streaked night, exploded through the water on either end of their craft; the ship flew up as the blades crashed back down, causing water to defy gravity before crashing down with a jarring impact. Vincent held on as fast as he could to the railing, feeling the tender bones and muscles of his left arm twinge with a sharp pain. Twin waves overtook the ship and suddenly he couldn't breath, his body battered with seawater that nearly knocked him off the ship. _Nanaki!_ The dog didn't have anything to hold onto! Through the deluge, he scanned the deck for any signs of the old dog. "Nanaki!" he yelled, though his voice couldn't overcome the tremendous power of the skies.

As the water receded, his gaze swirled around the ship and waters. Four, five... six others onboard. Five were the crew, including Nuboko. And Ruana was safe. Which meant that...

"Cirrus! CIRRUS!" she shouted, leaning over the railing. The young man was flailing in the water, clutching the wide-edged Atma Weapon like a lifeline. There was a flash of red above him; Nanaki was still tumbling through the air. He forced his waterlogged clothes over and grasped Ruana around the waist, forcing her away from the railing.

Against her protests, he said, "Nanaki will take care of him! Get back!"

With a wolf-like howl, Nanaki instantly vanished, and the waves between the boat and the monster suddenly split. There was a blur of red against purple, and he was quickly back on the rickety boat, a feral snarl lending a ballistic glare to his single eye. Next to him was Cirrus, spewing huge amounts of inhaled water, and the forked spear Nuboko had launched, its tips covered in the beast's foul blood. A hundred meters off the side of the boat, four parallel lacerations split the right appendage from the body, and more turquoise blood spilled to pollute the water like an oil slick.

The large beady eyes now glared at him again, completely ignoring the missing limb or blood that pulsed out with every beat of its massive heart. _VINcent..._ It was in his head! He reeled back, clutching at his head with his clawed hand, digging into the skin and drawing blood. There was something in his head! Something was invading his mind!

"ARGH!" Those hellish eyes bore into him, and he felt Jenova's presence surfacing inside him, and images without sound and sensations without time suddenly came to the surface.

_Hojo's precision instruments. Drip, drip, drip of an intravenous tube. The hot, searing sensation in his chest, a sensitive, somewhat ticklish feeling of something probing his insides, he could actually FEEL his insides. "Amazing..." A lodging of pain, in his chest – his lung? Yes, his lung – as something is dislodged. Blurred visions, visions of books strewn all about. Two harmless cylinders in the back corner. Scraping of metal. A cool, solid object measured against his arm. A needle poised over his throat, stinging sensations as others jabbed into his limbs._

_Whose visions were these? His? His memories?_

_Pain. Pain in his left arm. Dizzying vision, shifting from ceiling to arm. A lump, a barren scrap of bicep, and sharp, sweet, acute agony as a scalpel comes into this hazy field of vision and methodically, gently separates tendons __– "...vincent...!" – __and cartilage connecting bones. A cold, unfeeling sensation. Clanging of bone material, a new bone touching the stump, sending jolts of fire __– "...ruana, grab him...!" – __through his soul._

_These were his memories! This had happened to him!_

"_As I expected..." Clouded voices, echoes, whispering as if in a liquid. Green vision. A presence in his thoughts._

_A presence._

_A harbinger._

"VINCENT!" His left arm cried out painfully as it was again snapped unpleasantly, the result of an arm grabbing his own. Feeling slowly began to come back, and he dumbly noticed a queer emptiness in his right hand. An arrow of light shot past, and he tracked its path – the sharp, reversed edge of the Death Penalty hooked around one of Ruana's short swords, a foot away from tumbling into the sea below. "Vincent, what's wrong!?" she yelled, straining against the listing ship, clutching the grip of her other weapon, its blade embedded into the deck. As the ship pulled back, he got to his feet and retrieved the weapons.

"My thanks," he said in lieu of an answer. He handed her weapon back and aimed the large rifle at the Jenova again._Those memories were erased for a reason, monster. Now you won't get what you want from me. Now more than ever._

_IS that SO, valENtine? I alREAdy HAVE your WOman, YOUR comPANions, AND i WILL have YOU._

The voice was so familiar, and it brought back even more horrendous memories. He snarled quietly. _I think not, Jenova._At this, the beast almost seemed to sneer.

"YOU will FAIL to STOP me," it bellowed in a deep, penetrating voice, which carried well over the din and crash of the holy battle above.

"Watch out!" shouted one of the crewmen; Vincent looked toward the voice, then to the sight pointed out by the extended finger, then up the long, pebbly tendril to the spade-shaped tip as it arched up and around the ship.

"Oh, Christ..." muttered Nuboko as he clamored slowly atop the cockpit roof; his impressive thrust had obviously taken a lot out of him. "K-Kaze... any more harpoons?"

Kaze, just as mystified, answered, "Uh, yeah, but I ain't so sure anything's gonna help much, y'know?" as he hefted another rocket into his launcher. The tentacle slammed down onto the ship's stern, and he felt the ship buckling under the pressure, its metal groaning to hold together.

The thick appendage wrapped twice around the ship's hull... and began to pull.

"Ruana!" shouted Cirrus, dashing toward the stern. "Ruana, do it now!" Ruana joined him behind the cockpit and readied a small emerald orb in her hands, her steps more surefooted thanks to the relative stability the massive tentacle provided.

Vincent followed suit, pealing off several rounds into the base of the tentacle in the process, blowing off small chunks of its razor-edged suckers. "If you're going to do something, you better do it now!" Nuboko ordered Cirrus and Ruana urgently, grabbing one of the rocket launchers and hefting it onto his shoulders. "I think it's getting ready to do something!"

Just as he said that, a horrible screech issued forth from the mouth of the Jenova monster. Vincent turned and was met with a coalescing sphere of white-hot energy. Without thinking, he sent a strand of his mind into the green orbs on his rifle, summoning up the prismatic, rainbow-hued shields just as the beam of light crashed down onto them, buffeting their forces with a stream of power. He shuddered under the intense weight of the blast, feeling the magical armor slowly peel away.

"Everyone down!" he commanded as the star-shaped buffer suddenly collapsed. The beam tore a trench through the ship, exposing the belly and the messy items tossed about within. Screams fought against the crashing waves as burnt metal mixed with seawater to sting their noses.

Then, before he could get up, a hideous river of flames spewed forth from Ruana's gestured fingers, a Fire Materia clutched in her index and middle fingers, and cooked the hardened scales of the tentacle. Softened and pliable, the mass of flesh tore easily as Cirrus charged forward and swept the large blade of his Atma Weapon down, splitting it completely.

"**KRAGH!**" blubbered the monster, its decapitated tail whipping violently as it receded back into the foamy depths of the water. It pushed forward, charging to chomp down on the pretentious fools that dared to defy it, that had hurt it so much in their worthless effort at survival. Vincent fired two rounds into its approaching face, and it screamed back again, one of its death-hallowed eyes burst open in a showy spray of gore.

"Nuboko, get us out of here!" cried Nanaki, even as he summoned up another bolt of lightning to strike the previously wounded chest.

"Sure thing, jiisan!" was the answer as Nuboko fumbled down onto the deck and into the cockpit. With a resounding roar, the small ship came back to life. "Hang on to something! We're getting out of here, now!" Vincent could make out the sounds of something unfurling in the chaotic waters below before he was knocked against the railing and the ship rocketed forward, far faster than he had thought possible.

Snarling, the giant creature immediately gave chase in spite of its amputated ligaments. As it rolled onto its belly, a large, thorny sail breached the surface of the water, its huge rise an ominous relief against the monotonous light-streaked ocean. He could faintly discern the monster's shape in the dark waters behind them; the waves above it threw bumps into their path, but it traveled easily enough beneath them, and the small lead they had quickly shrank.

Everyone present gathered at the stern, gazing with increasing dread as the monster continued to close the gap, gazing at the saw-like sail that would tear their ship into pieces. "What the hell are we gonna do now?" moaned one of the remaining crewmen as he slumped against the ship's railing. "It's gonna get us..."

Vincent certainly shared the man's sentiments. They wouldn't be able to make it out of this storm. _The storm... _He looked around. They had drifted at least a mile in these huge waves since the monster attacked them, but the sky was still as gloomy as ever; they were no closer to the edge of the storm than they were before. It seemed to follow them wherever they went, like...

_The calamity from the skies._

His eyes widened at the sudden realization; it was such a foreign thought, something that had just materialized in his head, yet he felt so sure of its truth. "You!" he commanded, pointing to the same sailor that had spoken. "Get the remainder of your men and slow this thing as much as you can!" To punctuate the point, he took careful aim at the large sail and fired, the bolt of death and sorrow drawing hot sparks as it glanced off the thick armor beneath the water. The creature was hardly fazed by the Death Penalty's shot, but the man next to him nodded in understanding and went to ready another round of explosives. Holstering the firearm, he concentrated, removing and fisting one of the crimson, ruby-like orbs.

"What are you doing, Vincent?" Nanaki asked, eyeing the stone in his grip. In the very far distance, he heard the clatter of metallic objects being assembled and fired, followed by muffled pops of explosives in water.

"We need these clouds to part," he said briefly, then shut his eyes and let himself ease into the spirit of the Materia, feeling the enchantment take over his body. He felt the eldritch spirits coil around his body, wispy rose strands that seeped into the pores of his body, leeching his life force to sustain their own. He willingly opened himself to them, letting their vampiric tendrils suck away what little energy he had left and project it into the skies, into the heavens above, into the stars.

Grunting, he collapsed once again, barely catching himself with a shaky hand. As those present gathered around him, he managed to give a small nod of fortitude.

_Valentine. _He started at the unanticipated thought, but quickly settled his nerves.

Jenova... No, it was not the voice of the monster chasing them. Who else could it be, if it wasn't...

_Chaos? Why didn't you reveal yourself before? _There was no answer. Typical.

And then, as if making way for some celestial figure, the clouds parted to reveal a circular expanse of clear, azure sky. The sea monster slowed in its chase, confused by this sudden change in atmosphere, and the ship pulled that much further away. Energy hummed in the air, built, and continued to build, and the air soon seemed full of it, yet still it continued to cram itself in, and the air felt like it would pop like an overfilled balloon.

"...what's going on...?" whispered Nuboko as he made his way to the back; the ship continued on its course, driven by an automatic control. He looked straight up into the sky and could see a color that matched his shirt, its peace standing at extreme odds with the monster that was chasing them.

Without warning, a beam of green light fell and struck the moving creature, bringing its chase to a grinding halt, and all the energy in the air suddenly seemed to pour into the point of impact like it was a mystical vacuum. It flailed vainly at the water and screeched a high-pitched wail as the light made it arch down into the water and blew through its chest, gouging a hole out of its heavily shielded body. _LET me GO now! THE day BREAKS! _it begged of him, even as the light grew in intensity and seared its flesh, drawing steam from the foamy waters around it. Jerking spasmodically as the light dissipated, the creature continued to thrash weakly at the sea, but these jerky movements soon subsided, and the giant monster overturned, its thick body gradually floating to the surface.

Sighing to himself, Vincent brought himself to his feet and observed the death scene; like all the other remnants of Jenova before it, this monster visibly crystallized before evaporating at the touch of the wind, scattering its wispy fragments across the sea from whence it came.

"...What... what was that... just now?" Nuboko questioned, gazing up at the cloudless, featureless sky.

Nanaki shook himself clean, dousing everybody with another layer of spray. "Wouldn't you like to know," he said wryly before slumping. Staring out through his drooping bangs, the dog added a self-pitying sigh.

"This is why I hate storms."

* * *

**Interlude – The Night in the Rain**

He found her in a thin alleyway between two houses quite a bit away from the palace, hidden in the deep shadows created by the ebony night. The shadows hugged her so well that he would have lost her if he hadn't had such supernaturally sharp eyes. The alley was too narrow for him to bring the bamboo umbrella in, so he folded it and held it at his side, allowing the fat droplets of rain to deluge his own body.

As he stepped soundlessly into the suffocating confines of the alley, he made out her shuddering form, head almost against the wall of one of the houses. A thick fall of rainwater ruthlessly battered her back as it overflowed from the extended roof. Silently, he made his way past a wooden barrel and stacks of useless cardboard containers until he was nearly upon her and able to make out her quiet, hushed sobbing. _You shouldn't be here, _he told himself as he looked over her wracked frame. _She deserves to be left alone. _But it was his job to keep her safe.

"Yuffie." She jumped in shock, wheeling around to face him. The small waterfall above struck her face, and she fell back against the wall, leaving the curtain of rain between them. He stood where he was, outside of the shelter, raindrops pelting his shoulders. Through the blur of rushing water, he saw her blush lightly, the rosy hue a stark contrast to her pale, shivering skin. Unsure of what to do, he simply stared at her in silence; he realized with surprise that he could faintly smell her, even through the dampness of the water, and it calmed him down a little. It was one of the few things he could recognize, especially in this cramped environment, which felt as alien to him as the face of the moon; he had never before been in a narrow alley with the rain pouring down on him and a lone girl crying behind a wall of water in front of him because she was enamored with him.

"Yuffie," he said again, hoping to the gods that he could perform his duty without humiliating her any further. "You know what you have to do."

"Did my dad send you?" she inquired, her sobs slowly easing away.

"No," he answered immediately, surprised that he was hurt by her question.

She immediately looked away from him, as if he were a victim of a plague. "You... you heard it all, didn't you?"

He hesitated. "...yes." She smiled, disgusted at herself, as he voiced his confirmation.

"So... is that why you're here? To bring back the stupid little princess who won't marry her honorable Hikama cousin?" she demanded quietly, mocking and ridiculing herself even as she turned to face him.

"I'm your guard. I have to make sure you're okay," he said. Yuffie laughed miserably, her lips curled up into a mirthless grin that seemed strange and unfamiliar on her face.

"Is that it?" she asked, as if she had expected a more substantial reason for him to come and get her. He nodded. "Look, what he said... about you-"

"Is it true?"

She was silent. Her chocolate eyes looked everywhere but at him, as if doing so would reveal some dark, tempestuous secret. "...N-no, of course not!" she finally stammered, a nervous peal of laughter sinking into the chilly night.

He brought his claw arm up to divert the flow of rainwater, closing a small fraction of the distance between them in the process. Without the rain distorting his vision, he could finally see her entire face. She gazed up into his eyes with tragic hope and anticipation, shocked into silence; her body shivered visibly, though he knew that not all of it was due to the cold, and the folds of her kimono clung to her like a second skin. His gaze crept over the seductive fabric outline of her body but he quickly averted his eyes before he could be drawn in by their allure. "You'll catch a cold," he whispered through the drunken haze that suddenly afflicted him; he felt her quick breaths creep up from her parted lips to caress his cheek, and the subtle kisses made it hard for him to concentrate.

"Yeah..." she answered, and an overwhelming urge seized him at the sight of her, an urge to seal those lips to his, to possess her in his grip and clutch her, keep her warm and safe against his body. He closed his eyes immediately. _Do not do it, do not do it, _he repeatedly told himself, clenching onto that dear sentiment until he found he could look at her again. Could look at that shivering, rain-streaked face, those immeasurably deep pools of emotion, that quivering, succulent, inviting mouth...

Wheeling around, he turned to the entrance. "Let's get going," he spat out, a red sheen of thin hatred suddenly seeping into his body. What right did she have to do this to him without even trying? He stepped to her side, arm still poised to disperse the cascade of water. She nodded and stepped out of the cover of the roof, taking the proffered umbrella from him. The thick droplets of rain slapped his eyes shut as he turned so his gaze wouldn't fall on her.

They walked back in silence and he listened to the weather: the downtrodden shards of water peppered the ground around them like the whispers of secrets, the soft, the constant drone of dew on stone echoed like the sweet smack of lips parting only to meet again in an endless cycle of passion, the soft sluicing of her bare feet through the small layer of water sounded in the whole of his being like the unimaginably lovely pull of silk fabric on skin, and when his own matched hers in a duet, it filled him with surreal images of their arms and legs intertwining, their voices murmuring soft confessions to each other in the dark. He gripped the bamboo stem with such thinly held restraint at these base, unprofessional, and immoral thoughts that he nearly tore into its shaft.

Before that could happen, she said, "H-hey, Vinnie?"

"Yes?" His voice was tightly reined, chilled.

"L-look, I... what I said back there..." She laughed again, that nervous chuckle again fading quickly into the miserable weather. "...That... that wasn't true."

He kept his stony gaze forward, rage and sinful desire battling over control of his voice. He chose to keep it shut.

"I... God, I don't know why I'm even saying this, Vinnie, I should just leave well enough alone, I know that, but..." she blubbered out, "...but I keep getting this really sick feeling, like... like if I don't say it now, right now, it's gonna be too late, and I won't get the chance ever again... God..." There was a deep inhale of breath as she regained what little composure she had, and he felt the slow, long pull of a hammer on the gun that was about to shatter his heart and open up the Pandora's Box within. "I'm just gonna say it, Vinnie. I-"

"Don't say it." The command was quick, succinct, but he had let slip a pained inflection that would have otherwise made it a perfect execution. _It's the damn rain, _he ventured. _It's making me miserable. _"Leave well enough alone. Don't think about it ever again. It's just your imagination." The rest of his order was hurriedly rushed out before any more of his true feelings could be pulled out by the pattering of the rain and her confused, beckoning look.

"W-what?" she asked, bewildered. Hurt. Her shivers ceased almost completely, and he didn't offer her any chance to read his emotions, molding his face into a frozen façade, his body into a rigid, cadaverous stride. After a moment, she too turned silent, lifelessly tagging along as they returned home to the prison from which she had just escaped.

The rain now sounded like furious slaps, her wet feet like the harsh, desperate chokes of a person drowning, and he found this new sensation infinitely more frightening than the previous one. It was terrifying in its implications – he could see the endless future for him, and there was only Death's accursed, depressing skull keeping him company, that alone stalking him, waiting for him to willingly trip on a stone of despair and fall onto its wicked blade.

They managed to make their way to the front entrance before she ordered him to stop. They faced each other, though she continued to stare down at the wet pavement. "What is it?" he asked, careful to not let any welling ardor seep through. Something struggled against her lips, and she gritted her teeth against it; he strained to make it out, but it sounded more like a repressed cough than any discernable statement.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"...Argh, I can't take this anymore!" she finally burst out, tousling her hair in frustration. "I can't take this damn rain and all this moping around going 'Daaah' and this stupid depressing RAIN! I wanna say ONE thing and I can't even say it because I'm too much of a wuss to say it, and YOU, Vinnie! You're so 'I'm no good,' blah-dee-da, 'Don't say it,' neh-neh-neh, 'Misery and torment!' Well, I've had it with you and your depressing one-liners! They make me feel as miserable and mopey as you are! I'm just gonna say it! I...! I...!" She paused in her tirade, suddenly grown meek and shy. "I...! Y'know...! Aaargh... I mean... I... y'know..."

He reached a hand up to tilt her head up so he could look into her face, but she immediately stiffened in tense apprehension and ordered, "D-don't touch me, Vincent..." He ignored her. He wanted too much to do this, to feel her soft, rain-cold cheek against his palm. His occupational imperative didn't seem to register in his mind, but he didn't mind in the least. His fingers brushed against her chin-

She was on him, her lips pressing hotly against his, her arms twined tightly around his neck, and her entire body was pressed against his, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground; he nearly fell back under the force of her leap. Something somewhere clattered to the ground, and he realized in some distant part of his mind that he had let go of the umbrella. His body, however, was frozen in shock, frozen as it attempted to contemplate the situation, to understand how she had gone from standing in front of him to locking her lips against his.

But before he could fathom the reason, she had broken away and stood in front of him again, panting, blushing across her entire face. "I-I told you not to touch me," she stuttered, and her words brought him out of his euphoric rapture just enough to comprehend language.

That painful well of desire sprang back to the surface, and it helped him conjure up just as much hatred and insensible rage. As if sensing his impending explosion, she whispered, "...Do you know how hard it is to love you, Vinnie?" and his anger suddenly vanished. She stepped back a bit until they were far enough that the urge to rip each other's clothes off in a bout of glorious passion was less stifling. "I mean... I knew you were gonna outlive all of us, and I knew that I couldn't do anything about it, so I... y'know, I tried to make your time with us as much fun for you as I could... to make up for all those years of crap you had to go through... And it WAS fun, it really was, but I..." She sighed, and it sounded bitter, self-loathing. "...Vincent, I... I just didn't want you to live the rest of your life and have no good memories to go along with it. I guess, somewhere along the line... I wanted those memories to be with me. Sorry about that."

When she left, he felt... clear. There was no more struggle in his mind, no more emotional clutter to keep him from concentrating on the things that mattered. And he no longer felt that intense hatred at himself.

He sighed and took a slow, meditative pace to his bedroom, and by the time he reached it, he found he could communicate with himself without cutting himself off, without constructing barriers separating one mind from another.

* * *

**Aftermath**

The final sputters of the gas tank sounded like the dying coughs of a leper. He tapped the stammering container before making his way back to the cabin lounge. There was a newly fashioned sunroof letting the sunlight and sea air filter down, courtesy of yesterday's monster. Kaze and Tanaka glanced up briefly at him, turned back to observe the top of the stout coffee table, and synonymously got to their feet. "Yeah, boss?" Kaze asked somberly.

_I'm sorry. I failed you all. _Instead, he said, "The... the ship's running on fumes. I need you to go out and prepare the sail. Ask ojiisan and the others to come down here, too."

"Nobody else in the area?"

He shook his head. "The closest ship is the Barbarois, and Meier-san says that they're having engine problems near that old excavation site to the north." Nodding without another word, the two scooted past him and made their way up to the deck. When he was sure they had gone, he slumped down onto the sofa and ran his hands through his cropped, blond hair. _Jerome, Tae-Yong, Michael, and Makoto. Four men... four men that were here just twenty-four hours ago._

A loud, pained groan escaped his lips. He wouldn't cry. He couldn't cry. Being captain didn't allow him to cry over lost men. He'd lost three other men to the seas before this group decided to hang onto him. It demanded such sacrifices every now and then as payment for utilizing its resources; the system was very economical.

Still... he had known these men for a long time. The last, Tae-Yong, had joined their eight-man crew nearly three years ago, and they had developed a deep, familial bond throughout the tests of the open water. They operated much like extensions of each other's families – when they arrived in one person's hometown, there would be a feast for eight waiting; when one man was incapacitated, the ship was inoperable for at least a week.

But he had lost four men in a single day. He hadn't even realized it at the time, and that was what hurt the most: he hadn't been observant enough. He could have saved them, he knew he could have, he should have, but...

He looked up from between his fingers at the sound of approach; Ruana and ojiisan stepped into the room, casting him sober glances. "Hey," Ruana said quietly as she sat down next to him. He smiled weakly at her, but it felt so meaningless, so he dropped it and rested his chin on his hands. Ojiisan set himself down across the table, gazing deeply into his eyes.

"...where's your brother, kaiju?" he asked after a short while, needing something to cut through the depressing silence.

"He'll be down in a little bit. He was finishing scraping off the burnt skin from that... thing yesterday. How about you, Nuboko? You okay?"

He nodded faintly. "I'm doing fine. It's Kaze and the others I'm worried about."

"You're a strong man, young Nuboko," ojiisan whispered from across the table, his deep voice carrying easily over the soft crash of waves outside. "Do not blame yourself for what happened yesterday."

He laughed, bitter and tasteless. "Easier said than done, ojiisan."

Two more pairs of booted feet clambered down the steps and Cirrus and Valentine-san stepped into the room. Cirrus took his position on the sofa and busied himself with patting an irritated ojiisan's bangs. Valentine-san leaned against the entrance, almost as if he were an outsider. Which, as far as Nuboko knew, he was; the man had been the cause of more than his fair share of trouble in the last few days.

"Okay," he started. "I called you in because I want to discuss what happened yesterday."

"Nuboko..." began Ruana quietly. He shrugged her off.

"I think everybody here should know just what that thing that attacked us was. And what," he added, glancing quickly in Vincent's direction, "the hell was that at the end?"

* * *

There was a moment of silence before he answered, "Before we do that, I believe proper introductions are in order. Nuboko?"

Nuboko shrugged, got up, and bowed lightly in Vincent's direction. "Nuboko Highwind, son of Cid II and Ayami Highwind, and grandson of Cid and Shera Highwind. Long days and pleasant nights."

Vincent returned the gesture, replying, "Vincent Valentine. May you have twice the number." _Well, he certainly hasn't forgotten the tradition, _he thought gently. _But, then again, it shouldn't be much of a surprise._

"Good. Now what did you want to know, young Nuboko?"

The sailor suddenly turned on Vincent. "I want to know what the FUCK it was that attacked us yesterday!"

There was a quick clamor of "Nuboko!" and "Hey!", and even Nanaki's ears perked up in surprise, but as he traded glances from Nuboko to Vincent, the gunslinger replied evenly, "A Jenova remnant. A creature infused with Jenova's cells."

The impact of Nuboko's foot on the floor sent vibrations through the room. "What the FUCK is a Jenova!? And why didn't you say a goddamn thing about it before!?" He tensed as Nuboko took a step forward; he bunched his muscles, ready to pounce on the volatile man should the situation call for it.

Vincent simply eyed him evenly, confusion making the light from his eyes swirl about. "You don't know about Jenova." It was less of a question and more a statement of surprise.

"Why the fuck should I!? All I know is that you knew about the damn thing before it was even on us, and you didn't say ANYTHING! Do you know how many men I lost in that battle!?"

"Four." Nuboko fell silent, visibly taken aback by the quick answer. "Three were thrown off by the waves during the attack, and the last lost his balance when we made our escape." Before Nuboko could respond, he added, "Had we tried to rescue them, we would most likely have perished along with them." Nanaki frowned, sensing the calculative, methodical, uncompromising persona beginning to take over Vincent's demeanor. _I thought that part of you was dead, Vincent._

Nuboko fumed and nearly leapt to strangle the gunslinger, but Nanaki interrupted, "That's enough!" He glared menacingly at Nuboko, commanding him to sit back down, and then turned his glare on Vincent, who met it with a calm indifference. "Now you know what attacked us," he said tightly, keeping his eye on Vincent. "As far as that beam at the end..." At that, Vincent turned the glare around, focusing his attention on Nanaki with questions and accusations. "...that was a Materia Summon, young Nuboko."

"A what?" he asked, his voice a touch placated. Cirrus and Ruana also looked at him with perplexed eyes.

"A Materia Summon is an extremely powerful form of Materia. Like all other Materia, it is formed from the Lifestream. Do you remember the Lifestream, young Nuboko?" After Nuboko nodded, he continued, "A Summon is created from the soul of an extraordinarily powerful being – a god, a warrior, what have you."

"How come we've never seen one before?" asked Cirrus. Nanaki smiled lightly.

"Materia Summons are exceptionally rare, young Cirrus. They are as rare among Materia as-"

"How do you not know of Jenova and Materia?" Vincent interrupted abruptly, his question falling on the three grandchildren. The gunslinger was obviously perturbed and more than a little irritated.

He turned to him and calmly replied, "Because the world has moved on since then, Vincent. This isn't a foreign concept to you. Now stop judging me with your eyes and I will explain the path of the world to you another time." As he turned back to regard Cirrus, he caught the trace of a miniscule, amused smile lighten Vincent's face, and he found himself a bit more at ease, as well. _The world moves on, but we can bear it for now because we are both here; isn't that right, Vincent? _Addressing the other three present, he continued, "The Summon you saw yesterday was Bahamut Zero. You have all heard the legend of the Bahamuts, haven't you?" They nodded. "Bahamut held dominion over the Earth, and Neo Bahamut over the skies, but a little-known legend speaks of Bahamut Zero, the dragon god that reigned over the heavens. It was that that saved us yesterday."

There was a whisper of fabric as Vincent silently stepped out and up onto the deck. Most likely he wished to be by himself for a while; Nanaki had little doubt that this had been the longest time he'd spent with others in over half a century. It would be a bit of an adjustment.

But he was caught off-guard when Ruana also removed herself from her seat and excused herself. To his queries, she simply answered, "I need some air."

"Come back soon. I need to talk to you," he said, and she nodded absently as she made her way up the stairs. After they sat in silence at length, the gap filled by the softly lapping waves outside, Cirrus also made as if to leave.

"No, young Cirrus, sit down," he ordered quietly.

"Why?"

"Because I need to talk to the two of you about Vincent."

Nuboko snickered at this. "My apologies, ojiisan, but I don't think there's much to talk about. Valentine-san is a dangerous man. If it weren't for him, my-"

"And I need to explain to you why your four shipmates died yesterday." He became quiet at that, listening intently.

"So why am I here?" asked Cirrus as he prepared once again to leave. "Niisan," he said solemnly, raising two fingers to his forehead in a small, grave salute. Nanaki sighed, feeling the dread start to build. It never gets easier, having to face your faults.

"Because I have been an inadequate grandfather to you, Cirrus," he said in just as somber a tone as Cirrus had just directed to Nuboko, causing the young man to stop in mid-stride and return to his seat.

"Wh-what are you talking about, Gramps? You've been nothing BUT great!" he said forcefully, and Nanaki could see the bells going off in his head, wondering where his grandfather's sudden doubt had come from.

Getting up and padding to the end of the coffee table, Nanaki placed the soles of his front paws on it and raised himself as high as he could, stretching out his weary back legs. "I'm going to tell you two what I know about Vincent. Forget every tall tale I ever told you about him, Cirrus; I will tell you about the real Vincent Valentine, and I hope that by the time I'm done, you will understand him just a bit better."

* * *

She found him gazing out over the sea, his cape and hair billowing with the calm winds that blew the ship steadily to its destination. Around the ship, Kaze, Tanaka, and Osaka were busy keeping things in order – checking cargo, fixing broken equipment from yesterday's attack, managing the sails, keeping a lookout for potential prey in the open water – each man fighting courageously to shoulder the extra duties and burdens their dead comrades had left behind.

"...Vincent?" she asked timidly as she approached him. It was hard to not be frightened of the man; he had nearly killed her on more than one occasion, after all.

"What is it, Miss Strife?" She couldn't detect any animosity toward her in his voice, only a little bit of what seemed to be mild irritation; then again, he didn't seem like the type to carry much in his voice at all, so she took this as a sign of progress on her part to closing the communicable gap between them. Spurred on by this lack of hostility, she gently took a place on the railing next to him. She noticed that he seemed to like looking out into the sea; his crimson eyes had gazed out in much the same way when they left the shores of Wutai. Maybe it lets him think, a voice told her, and he's kinda peeved that you're taking him away from it.

"Um..." she started, staring with trepidation at the golden claw he rested loosely on the railing. She had felt the bones flex during the battle; she didn't know how he could withstand such pain. "Thank you for saving me yesterday." He nodded ever so slightly and resumed his melancholy meditation. "...Do you want me to leave?"

He simply continued to stare out, apparently ignoring her. The silence became so oppressive that she was about to answer that question herself when he quietly stated, "I assume you have questions for me, Miss Strife."

"Well, yes, but I don't want to-"

"What is your question?"

"Well... um..." What WAS her question? She seemed to have forgotten it now. She scrambled through her brain, trying to figure it out, and another silence came in and settled for a while. He turned back to face the waves. "Oh... oh yes!" she exclaimed. "I..." The thought disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and she was left speechless. "...I... was wondering how you arm was doing." Quickly, she stammered, "Well, I mean- yesterday I felt it-"

"It's fine, Miss Strife." His voice made it clear that he was becoming irked by her bizarre obsession with his arm. _That's great, Ruana. Just keep asking about the strangest part of his body. That's REALLY going to put you in good favor with the guy. _She cursed her conscience and pressed on.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't what I really came out here to ask about." She looked at him to gauge his reaction. He continued to look out, the same as before, but she somehow got the feeling that he was simply waiting patiently for her, and she felt much calmer, more at ease with this strange man in red. And then, as if on cue, a thought came to her mind. "I think we got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Val... Vincent." He faced her then, a complete ninety-degree turn of the body, and though his demeanor didn't change in the slightest, the meaningful gesture let her know that he was both perplexed and curious. Or perhaps not curious, but certainly interested, at least. She continued, "At least... I would feel a bit more at ease if we could start over from scratch."

He mused over that for a moment, and she allowed a small spark of hope to build inside her. _Maybe we can finally get past all this awkwardness! _However, that hope was quickly dashed as he once again returned to staring at the endless expanse of blue that stretched past the horizon and into the clear, cloudless sky.

After a few tense moments, he said, almost as if he were speaking to the wind that whispered by, "You despise your grandfather. You mock Wutai by word. You make a hypocrite of yourself by practicing its ancient arts. There is no 'start over from scratch,' Miss Strife." She cringed ever so slightly at those words, as if they were shards of glass that reflected her truest, most disgusting self even as they stabbed into her.

"...Okay, Vincent; I understand. I suppose I should leave, then." With that said, she began to push off the railing and make her way back under.

"Why?" he asked, causing her to stall her retreat.

"Well, because it's obvious that you don't want me around-"

"I dislike you, Miss Strife, but I won't order you away."

"Why not?" She followed his gaze to a spot on the ocean ceiling, where a small group of fish flickered light from the sea-warped sunlight, and back again, trying to discern his emotions. They proved to be a hard puzzle to crack.

"Why do you hate Cloud Strife?" The question caught her by surprise, but anger quickly replaced her momentary shock.

"Why shouldn't I? He murdered my grandmother and left my father and uncle alone."

"Is that why you hate him, or is that why your father hates him?"

"That-" But his words caused her to pause. Why DID she hate him? _Because he ruined our family name. _But what family name did they have? As far as she knew, he WAS the start of their family name – her father had made no mention of any grandparents. _That makes no difference! He ruined my father's life! _She felt the anger suddenly flare up, and she spun on Vincent. "That's none of your business anyway!"

And like a mirror image of herself, he snapped and glowered over her, his crimson eyes flashing so brightly that they illuminated his face, and she leapt up as those demonic eyes bore into her. "Whose business is it BUT mine, Miss Strife!? Yours!? What the HELL do **YOU** know about him!?" he hissed out in a raspy, venomous voice, so unlike the one he'd had before that she could scarcely be sure he was the same man.

Her jaw locked in place; she stared with wide eyes at him for an eternity, a deer caught in the soul-shaking beams of red headlights. She thought she could see a tinge of purple in his skin, could see his fingernails lengthening into massive, heart-rending claws. She smelled gunpowder and molten metal and felt the giant slug cave in her face, leaving a softball-sized cavity in her head.

But that acidity soon vanished and his eyes melted into their usual soft, luminescent state. "My apologies, Miss Strife," he said monotonously, cutting through her haze of fear and horror. "I frightened you." She thought she nodded at that. "I was simply making a point."

"...uh... okay," she managed to wheeze out.

"You hate Cloud Strife out of habit. That's your explanation, Miss Strife. Habit."

And he turned back to observing the crisscrossing patterns of the school of fish as they eventually made their way out of sight. She stood next to him, the abject terror slowly fading away like sand sifting through a hand, and quietly mulled over his cryptic statement. Habit? Explanation? What does he mean by that? Is he talking about me?

Then she realized what he had meant. He had been explaining himself! He tolerated her out of habit!

...that realization wasn't exactly the most heartwarming of revelations, but she smiled nonetheless.

"Vincent?" He didn't turn, but she could tell he was paying attention. "Tell me... about Wutai, then." He waited for her to continue, still staring thoughtfully out into the water. "Tell me what's so great about it."

He shook his head, and, eyes fixed longingly on the ocean waters like they were his memories, replied, "Miss Strife, there are things in this world that you can only appreciate if you see with eyes unclouded by hate." And then he said nothing else. She watched him, trying so hard to understand his words, those enigmatic words, words that seemed to reflect his own mystery. Finding no answers in his stone face, she followed his lead and observed the ocean in silence.

_Eyes unclouded... _She wondered what that was like.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Lucid Waters of Temptation and Doubt END**

A/N: There you have it – one chapter takes a year to complete, and the next follows a month or two after. Hope you've enjoyed reading thus far. I've certainly had a good time writing.

I've noticed a drastic change in writing style from the first chapter to this one, and I think I'll be going back to re-write many of those early chapters, particularly to get rid of some of the more common writing habits that "growing" writers tend to have – I use such bad description, such bad writing style, such bad lots of things – as well as to make my story a bit more cohesive. But reading through those chapters again is a very entertaining study in the growth of writing skill, I think.

On an unrelated note, does anybody know what the difference between "remains" and "remnants" is?

**Notes:**

"I'll Be Watching You," Sting – Most people apparently think that this is a love song. It isn't. The lyrics actually depict the thoughts of an obsessive, controlling man, and even Sting acknowledges that the song is mistakenly thought of as a love song.

"It is a work of the heavens; you cannot defeat it." – "...if this work be of man, it will come to naught; but if it comes from God, you cannot defeat it." Acts 5: 38-39.

"...a long, forked spear... the giant crimson spear suddenly leapt forward..." – A direct homage to Neon Genesis Evangelion's Lance of Longinus.

"...a hideous river of flames spewed forth..." – Sasuke's "Goukyakuu no Jutsu" ("Blazing Fireball Technique") from Naruto (episode 5) with a Fire Materia gripped in the hooked fingers.

"Let me go now! The day breaks!" – "Then Jacob was left alone; and a Man wrestled with him until the breaking of day. ... And He said, 'Let Me go, for the day breaketh.'" Genesis 32: 24-26. An interesting passage in that it describes a battle between a man and an angel (the capitalization of the Man's name marks Him as a holy figure – an angel or God Himself) in which the man actually wins.

Barbarois – The Barbarois is a mercenary group consisting of mutants, parasites, monsters, etc., that inhabits a village of the same name in the novel, Vampire Hunter D: Demon Deathchase. Mayerling ("Meier Link" in the movie adaptation) is the name of the vampire antagonist of the same story.

Ojiisan – Grandfather. Jiisan is the equivalent of "Gramps."

Kaiju – Monster, pest; this affectionate comes from the manga series, Cardcaptor Sakura, in which Sakura's older brother, Toya, constantly refers to her by this name.

"Long days and pleasant nights," "May you have twice the number." – Two of the first lines spoken between Roland and Brown in Stephen King's The Gunslinger.

"Because the world has move on since then..." – A common saying from Stephen King's The Dark Tower series, of which The Gunslinger (above) is the first book.

Niisan – Informal term for "older brother"; like jiisan, it omits the o- sound that would otherwise make it more formal.

"...see with eyes unclouded by hate." – Ashitaka, Princess Mononoke.


	9. Reprieve and Reparation

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

The next few days were spent in relative peace, as Nuboko's ship – it was named the Sword of Gothard – drifted along the seas, aided by a gentle, constant wind that blew them steadily toward Rocket Town. It seemed to Vincent that the open sea was apologizing for the misfortune it had wrought upon them by offering such an uncharacteristically benevolent turn of fate.

He mulled silently on this as Nanaki stepped gingerly up onto the deck. There were only mild waves, but even they caused the red creature to stumble lightly on his way over to Vincent. "Remind me to never ride this abomination again," he grumbled impatiently. A small, unconscious smirk tugged at the edge of his lips as he observed the irony of the situation: the normally exceptionally balanced dog could barely keep himself upright in the presence of a few undulations.

The ship had been healed of its grievous wound, and, with little else to do, the crew was in various states of lull – Nuboko and company were currently beneath deck, no doubt mourning the loss of their four brethren; the Strife twins were busying themselves with meditation on the ship's roof, partaking of Nanaki's instructions; Nanaki, prior to surfacing, had been busy downstairs, doing what he customarily did.

"Are you sure you're sober?" he asked off-handedly, to which Nanaki snapped lightly at his cape. Turning back to himself, Vincent ejected the clip of his Quicksilver to observe the ammunition. Seeing the empty cartridge, his thoughts went back to the battle in the forest, and to Chaos. It was obvious to him now that Chaos despised Jenova, but he was baffled trying to find the answer. _Chaos,_ he tried, but there was a silence within himself, and, ironically, he felt almost insulted at this quiet. He had spent his entire life trying to rid himself of the voices in his head, and now that he finally wanted to talk to one, it was playing the mute.

"What are you thinking about, Vincent?" Nanaki asked gently, finally resting next to the sitting gunslinger.

"Chaos. And Jenova." He replaced the clip with a fresh one, placed the spent cartridge in a waist pocket, and placed the handgun back into his left holster, prepped for battle. "You said you would 'explain the path of the world' to me, Nanaki. Would Jenova play any part of this?"

Nanaki shook his head. "No, this is the first time she's made her presence known since... well, since Cloud."

"Why did you never tell them about Cloud?" he demanded, and he couldn't hide the pained betrayal he felt. Nanaki growled irritably and averted his gaze.

"Don't try to judge me, Vincent. Do you want to know what's happened during your fifty-year sleep or not?"

"I want to know why Cloud's been turned into a coward."

"Who are you to judge me, Vincent!?" he barked, and the gentle, lulling atmosphere instantly evaporated, replaced with a cold, self-reproaching air that tickled a familiar spot in his conscience. "Instead of crawling into some piteous chamber of rot, I buried our friends and moved on with my life! I will not be a prisoner to their memories!"

"Who says you must be a prisoner!?" he retorted, suddenly infuriated. "When did Cloud's life become such a burden for you, Nanaki!?"

"About the same time yours became one for you!" Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Look at what the past has done to you, Vincent.

"It's made you pathetic."

His blood ran cold at the words. _Pathetic..._ Was it true? He found that the answer was a resounding "yes." _Of course I am. I couldn't save either of them._ He felt the old, familiar ice seeping into himself now, and he cherished it, waded into its chilling embrace. As it came over him, the sins returned, and he realized that he had been disillusioned that long time ago.

He would never be free of his sins. He would never be free of Lucrecia. It was evident, especially now. He was a fool to have believed, even for that small period of time, that he was a new man.

Yuffie had been wrong.

"Vincent, I-" Nanaki began after a brief period of silence, but he hushed the dog with a cautioning finger.

"Leave your sympathy, Nanaki. Just tell me what happened," he answered, and noted with detached apathy the look of pain and guilt that spread like wildfire across Nanaki's countenance.

"Just tell you what happened?" Nanaki repeated mockingly, tossing his bangs back with a short chortle. "'Just tell you what happened?'" he repeated again. "And what would you want to know about the past fifty years? That Godo cursed you until his dying day? That Barret died without ever seeing his daughter marry? That Shera was forced to raise her son by herself? That the entire world moved on without ever knowing what we sacrificed?" He came to his feet and turned to head back inside, laughing half-heartedly to himself. "I learned long ago that the world has forsaken our kind, Vincent. And if the world no longer needs heroes, then neither do I."

An eerie charge seemed to crackle and pop in the air between them, and Vincent was surprised when he felt his hand graze the stock of the Death Penalty; his thoughts were a fiery haze, and something warm, venomous, was boiling inside of him.

_Death to him..._ came the faint whisper, and his fingers closed on the rifle's comforting grip. It would be so easy, right now. _I could do it..._

But then, without thinking it, he found unbidden words escaping his lips. "So what happened to these heroes, Nanaki?" And as if breaking through that haze, he suddenly realized that his arm was already in motion to shoot, the gun half out of its holster, and he could kill Nanaki-

As quietly and swiftly as he could, he holstered the rifle and turned to the slowly swishing tail of Nanaki.

The old dog, now sturdy atop the ship, hesitantly replied, "...I buried them in Seto's Passage."

Vincent was quiet for a while, and for the longest time there was only the sound of waves and wind and air, but he was eventually jostled by the soft padding of paw steps. Nanaki once again took a seat next to him, offering little in the way of conversation. Vincent returned the favor, but the obstructive tension pushed him up and onto his feet. Words pushed like bile against his lips, threatening to spill forth into the air of the ship and eat through the invisible bonds between himself and Nanaki; he wanted so furiously to condemn the dog for being so stupid, so disrespectful, so... ungrateful.

"...Ingrate."

The syllable bounded everywhere and floated into his head and he struggled to find the source of it when he realized that HE had spoken it, he had somehow let those words escape, and he was destroying what remained of their friendship, what little and precious remained of his connection to this new world...

When he turned, Nanaki was already gone.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**

Chapter Nine: Reprieve and Reparation

"_O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate."  
- Matthew 23:37-38_

* * *

"Re-remember when he got caught in the net and we had to fish him out?" Hareton exclaimed, and the four men burst into laughter, slapping at their stomachs or thighs in an attempt to stop the flow of merriment. A throng of bottles of whiskey rolled lazily on the belly of the ship; just an hour earlier, their caps had been sealed and their temperatures had been a nice half-degree.

The atmosphere died down some, and in the silence that followed, each man once again turned his hazed thoughts inward – a deceptively simple trick, involving nothing more than a slight tilt of the head to avoid eye contact. He knew without knowing that the three men surrounding him were thinking about the exact same people he was. It didn't take a sober man to see the pain they were all sharing. They had been down here for far too long; their duties on deck were far from completed, but he didn't exactly feel like performing them with the utmost diligence.

_Four men in one night..._ he repeated, laughing a little to himself. Through the fog of wine, he noticed that his cup was still rather full of the amber liquid, and he reached a hand for it. It jumped, though, and he missed it. "H-hey," he said, smiling a big, broad smile as he attempted to grasp the evasive cup, "check it out... my cup's runnin' 'way..."

Suddenly, someone's hand reached over and snatched away the cup. "No way, cap'n," came the somewhat slurred and definitely really far away voice. "None for you 'nymore, 'kay? How- How many've you had, cap'n?"

"Only... only..." He took a good long look at his hand to try and keep count. "...s-seven- No, no, that's not right, I don' have seven fingers..." Then the fingers swirled around in a blur, and he laughed at the absurdity of it all. "Y-y'know," he began, hiccupping once before continuing, "th-there used to be eight of us... which is one more than seven. And- And now there's four of us, which is... is one less than five." The fogginess dissipated for a moment, and he was suddenly left feeling very disappointed, like a boy who had been waiting eagerly to open his Christmas present only to find that it was simply a bunch of new clothing.

Kaze frowned again, and everybody once again looked their separate ways. Nuboko couldn't, though; it suddenly came to him that he was supposed to do something, he was supposed to do something in this situation because he was the captain of the ship...

The profiles of the men's faces appeared to him like some sort of painting; each one glanced off into its own world, contorted and creased in separate ways, yet also tied together with some sort of intangible, inexplicable, fluid stroke of art, and there was a mood, a nearly symbolic definition to it all. He thought of... anguish.

The drunken stupor now gone, he stood up and sighed heavily. "M-men." Each man looked up, and he met each one's eyes with compassionate, moistened ones. "If this breeze... this breeze keeps up, we'll hit Rocket Town by tomorrow. Mi-" He broke off, choking back a sob and breaking eye contact as their gazes seemed to stab right into his heart; they would forgive him for his slight crack, he knew, because they had known him for too long. After only a moment, he continued, "Michael joined our crew... four years ago? ...y-yeah, four years. God, I'm so drunk. He-he was our first crewman, and because of him, we managed to keep from selling this old girl. I remember how he... right? Yeah. He went unpaid for half a year until we managed to get off our feet. He saw what this ship could be, you guys, and he did his damnedest to make that happen. I'll never forget it.

"When we disembark, we're all going to go tell Tcirchon-okaasan what happened to her son. After that... it's up to you. Those four meant so much to us. So much. I... uhh... I can't even begin to understand how you feel. I... I'll leave it up to you, 'kay? Just think about what you need to do for yourself."

And just as he predicted, they touched solid earth the next day.

* * *

So close now, Childe...

Rest first, soul-wearied shrouds,  
For diction and sustenance you seek  
And lamentation for those:  
The friends who have flown before.

So close now, Childe...

Depart, depart! For Eden -  
Do you come? For Eden do you seek?  
Alas, the Garden has turned to rot!  
And Jerusalem is without its King.

So close now, Childe...

Don the shield, the shadow  
Of your forefathers, and dance for them!  
The Horn of Gilead blows steady, true.  
Be merry now, for ahead lie I.

So close now, Childe...

* * *

With a flurry of action, sparkling fiery feathers slapped quietly against each other as they unfurled into and mixing with the sunlight, stretching up and up until they surpassed even the mighty evergreens that populated the forest. Large ivory talons curled and flexed as they grew immensely huge, the pinpoint claws digging a deep trench in the earth. The creature expanded and augmented itself, and when it finally extended its large head to shriek a loud and powerful bellow, its wings stretched from one end of the wide clearing to the other.

Blinking, it seemed to deeply consider its own body, almost as if it were unaccustomed to it; its large black eyes swiveled in every direction, scanning its lower body for any sort of imperfections. Cautiously, it raised one massive foot and brought it down again, gently, gingerly. Its three front talons swiveled dangerously as it twisted its foot from side to side, testing its strength.

Then, as if satisfied with its self-inspection, the massive bird lifted off the ground in one giant pulse of its wings. Trees to all sides strained against the massive draft as some branches were torn loose, and some of the younger ones were uprooted altogether.

The massive raptor hovered lightly above the clearing, its immense body forming a large blot of darkness on the forest ceiling, and it seemed to be charged with a menace, an overwhelming urge to destroy. Still, looking at its inquisitive figure, one would have thought that it was a creature that was aware of its surroundings, aware of itself. It fluttered back down to earth, its sharp talons surprisingly nimble and pliant as they touched down without digging into the forest floor.

The massive bird, with its autumn-colored feathers, peered at the landscape from the tree line, sensing another entity nearby. With controlled rage, it suddenly flared open its wings and an explosion of energy erupted from its core, undulating outward in a dome of yellow-orange energy. The energy washed over everything for half a mile around before dissipating into the air.

The creature began to shrink, an almost exact reversal of its growth earlier. Its talons shrank and seemed to melt into each other to form a waxy mass. Black tufts of hair began to sprout from beneath the feathers on the back of its head, and its wings strained fitfully as they formed together into indescribable blobs of black and tan. Within moments, the bird had shrunk considerably, and now seemed more the size of a bear than a giant phoenix.

It was exhilarating, like relaxing in a hot spring and feeling every single molecule of water against his skin. As the fiery shades disappeared, the inky blacks, blues, and reds of his kimono appeared as if they'd never been gone. After stretching out his limbs, Akira turned to his left, where Otosan had just stepped out from the shade of the trees. As the king approached him, he felt the clockwork, comforting suction of energy from his body, and he fell back onto the grass; even here, he could feel each individual blade of grass poking into his kimono, the slightest variation in wind speeds around his body.

"You know you aren't allowed to be alone out here, Akira."

"Good morning, Otosan," he answered in response as the euphoria slowly dissipated. The large man came and stood over him, casting a shadow across his face to guard from the sunlight.

"Why did you call for me, Akira?"

He shrugged passively from his spot on the floor. "I apologize, Otosan. I would have asked Okaasan, but she has business."

"And I don't?" The elder Kisaragi chuckled merrily and made his way to a nearby stump. Akira made as if to follow, but a wave of queasiness brought him back down and he felt sick bile force its way up his stomach. When he looked up again, Otosan was observing him curiously. "Have you eaten?" he asked, eyeing the puddle of digestive fluid at his feet.

"I did, Otosan," he replied. "Thank you for your concern. But breakfast isn't what I wanted to talk about."

"Of course not, Akira," Otosan conceded, waiting patiently for the young man to make his way over. "But it is not myself you should talk to, I think."

"Yes, Otosan, but Okaasan is always busy, and even if I get the chance, I cannot speak to her. I believe I may cause her more undue stress."

"You of all most certainly would. Seeing as that's the case, I suppose you hope that I can help. Very well." Otosan nodded and sat patiently; Akira bowed and took a kneeling position in front of him, careful to make sure his eyes did not stray past his father's knees.

After a moment of careful consideration, he asked, "Why have I never seen you perform Henshin, Otosan?"

The last thing he had expected was for the ruler to laugh. Rocking his head back in mirth, Otosan slapped once on his knee before answering, "Is that all?" He chuckled once more and answered, "Akira, Henshin is not an ability that I can ever hope to have."

"Does Okaasan have this power?"

When there was no answer, he looked up at Otosan. He peered down at him with a disapproving gaze, and before he could say more, he held up a finger to hush him. "I am contemplating the consequences of your questioning, Akira," he explained before falling silent. Akira brought his gaze back down and waited. The tension built up with him, and he was surprised at how much he wanted an answer to his question. The sounds of the local wildlife fell from his senses, as did everything else; he could scarcely feel the sunlight soaking into his back, much less hear the thundering of his heart as it hammered against his chest. When his father spoke, it carried with it a weight and impact that jolted his senses. "Okaasan has not performed Henshin in twenty years, Akira. She does not acknowledge its potential like you do."

"Why is that?"

Again, Otosan was silent, and Akira could tell that he was struggling between defying his wife or denying his son; he suddenly felt guilty for having put his father into this situation, and his fists clenched ever so slightly as he berated himself. _But I still need to know..._

"...I do not think I can answer that, Akira. Okaasan would not appreciate it."

Now wrapped in his own tribulations, Akira was quiet. Should he continue with his questioning? It was obviously an uncomfortable subject matter for Otosan, and he wasn't even certain why he wanted to know what he did. Was it because of the Altar?

The Altar had felt... ominous. Almost like a herald, a harbinger of indecision, of troubled times to come. He was... apprehensive. The icy mists of the Hall of Ancestors had felt twice as frosty and the Shrine's letters had seemed to flow and swirl unnaturally in their places, forming figures and shapes in the darkness that reminded him of the horrible demons that populated his childhood stories. What had disturbed him the most had been the specks of light from the burning incense; they burned harshly despite the chilly atmosphere, and as he had stared at the twin pillars, they had seemed to glare back at him like the irises of an evil being, surrounded by the oppressive darkness. It was only after Valentine-san had entered did the paralyzing enigma vanish

_Valentine-san..._ What was it about that man that seemed so compelling? Why did he feel such a familiarity with the estranged gunslinger?

"I met Valentine-san at the Altar." A small twitch in Otosan's demeanor piqued his interest. He cautiously raised his eyes to look at his father's visage, probing it for any more signs. Slowly, he added, "Who is he, Otosan?"

Finally, his father sighed and stood once more, beckoning to Akira to do the same. "I had hoped you wouldn't begin to question about Valentine-san, Akira. But I knew all the same that you would, eventually." Gazing out into the forest, he began to trek out into the center of the clearing, where Akira's massive talons had gouged out the earth. As he examined the large indentations, Otosan said, "There have been many things on which I disagreed with Okaasan. Of them all, your ancestral history has always been the one most disputed."

"What do you-" Otosan cut him off, continuing to gaze into the man-sized pits with intensive scrutiny.

"What is the name of your Henshin no Kami, Akira?"

"Ziz," he hastily replied. "Otosan, what does that-"

"Patience, Akira. Patience," Otosan admonished. "I will tell you what you wish to hear." Kneeling down and observing the disturbed earth, he continued, "You know the story of Ziz.

"Once, long ago, when Bahamut and Neo Bahamut still lived, they fell in love with each other. This was before the Planet came to be, and their love was a forbidden one. Bahamut Zero became enraged at them and created the Planet to be their prison. But he was a gentle god, and before he punished them, he offered them a choice. They could choose to live with their creator and forsake their love or retain their love and be bound to the Planet for all of existence. Even after they had chosen to betray him and stay with each other, he made the Planet massive, much larger than either dragon god, and gave one dominion over the skies and the other dominion over the Earth.

"It was on the Planet that they shared their love and gave birth to all the other gods. Then they died, but because of their transgression against their father, their spirits were forbidden to return to the universe.

"One of the gods that was born was named Ziz. Ziz was their second son, the first being Kujata. Ziz took the form of a giant falcon, and he was second in the skies only to Neo Bahamut. After the death of his father, Ziz became the singular ruler of the skies, and through him and the Phoenix came all the birds and winged creatures of the world."

Akira shook his head and sighed in frustrated agitation. "Otosan, I know all of that!"

"But do you COMPREHEND it, Akira? How can you possibly begin to fathom that a GOD lives inside you?" The elder Kisaragi turned to his son. "There is a power within Okaasan and yourself that is not possible. Not even the Cetra had control over the gods."

Akira contemplated this for a moment, but his patience was again beginning to wear thin. "Otosan... What does this have to do with Valentine-san? What do you mean by ancestral history?"

"Okaasan's Henshin no Kami is Garuda. Garuda is another of the ancient gods, Akira. Have you never thought about who the Henshin no Kami of your forefathers were? For that matter, have you never thought about Okaasan's lineage?"

He furrowed his brow, perplexed. _Okaasan's lineage? What do you mean? _"What are you saying, Otosan? Yuffie Kisaragi is Okaasan's virgin okaasan, blessed by Leviathan himself, and Godo Kisaragi is Yuffie-obaasan's otosan." As he gazed at his father's stern, reprimanding form, though, Akira suddenly found himself doubting himself. _That IS the way it is... right? _"Otosan... what is it? What are you trying to say?"

"Akira," Otosan began, but he paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yuffie Kisaragi was not a virgin, Akira. She was not a god like Bahamut Zero. She was not able to create something from nothing. No, like every human being, she had a spouse. Your Henshin ability comes from him."

_He's..._ The bamboo forest suddenly came back to memory. He had watched from a distance, mesmerized and paralyzed with terror, as two viscous fiends collided and thrashed against each other, until the hideous, purple-shrouded one threw open its wings and called upon the denizens of Hell. He had gazed, dumbfounded and entranced, at the grotesque sight of human skulls ripping into the other creature's flesh, rending its distorted and deformed body parts from each other. The winged demon had hosted the bloody feast with an impassioned fervor that shocked and disgusted Akira, and when the creature was reduced to little more than a flimsy core of cartilage and bone, it had reared back, its huge, dead-colored body a massive contortion of muscles, and drove its arms forward, slashing at the air with wide, blindingly fast strokes. Then it had rushed at the other monster even as it writhed and split into fragmentary pieces (almost as if it had been sliced and cloven), grasped the one remaining piece of it – a large, grotesque eye, that had BLINKED at him from the distance – and snarled.

When he had come to, the demon had been hovering by itself, the forest surrounding it completely reduced to nothing.

And then it had changed.

It had reduced itself back to human form.

It had performed Henshin.

_Valentine-san... what is your Henshin no Kami?_

* * *

**Interlude: The Goings-On of the Gone, Transcribed by the Goer**

A couple weeks later, he received a letter from Tifa.

He gazed warily at the envelope – how she had figured his location he didn't know – and after probing it for any malicious defects, checked the hand-written addresses. _It's certainly not Cloud's hand,_ he noted; Cloud's writing could hardly be counted on to be legible.

After he was satisfactorily certain that it was indeed Tifa's handwriting, Vincent opened the letter. Even when only a folded sheet of paper greeted him, he still cautiously unfurled it at arm's length. No gas, no dusty powders, nothing. _Get a hold of yourself, Vincent. It's just a letter._

And indeed it was. The letter was neatly scribed, and it was apparent that she had taken great care in expressing her thoughts. What came as a surprise was the fact that she was experiencing some emotional difficulties.

Or perhaps it wasn't as surprising as he thought.

Cloud had insisted, almost pleadingly, on living in Costa del Sol. "It's," he had said, "one of the few places without bad memories for me." Tifa, who could no longer live in Nibelheim or return to her bar in Midgar, had devotedly joined him, and the two were now settled in the expensive villa that they had purchased some time ago. (He was still puzzled by the story behind that purchase – for a reason he still couldn't fathom, they had all decided to bankrupt themselves and purchase it while in the midst of a battle to save the Planet.)

As he thumbed through the page of scripture, the inquisitive line of his lips fell lower and lower, and soon he found himself frowning disapprovingly.

_Dear Vincent,_

_ How are you? I know you're wondering how I managed to find you. Well, it's not hard, really. You're as predictable as the sunrise, you know that? But that's not why I sent you this letter._

_ You seem to know more about Cloud than any of us, and I really—desperately need your help right now. I'm sorry. I know you don't like these sorts of things, but I don't know who else to turn to._

_ Ever since we've moved here, Cloud hasn't been acting like his normal self. He seems—At least as normal as he usually is. He seems to be lost, like he doesn't know what to do with his life. I know he's trying to work things out, and I can't even imagine how hard it was to go through all that he has – Jenova, watching Nibelheim burn to the ground, being betrayed by—and manipulated by Sephiroth, and especially watching—not being able to—losing Aeris – but I know that he's moved on already. Which is why it's so hard to understand him now. I just don't know what's wrong with him anymore._

_ I—I know you—I think it's obvious—I don't think it's any secret that I love him, Vincent. I'm sure you of all people can see that. And I can't stand seeing him suffer like this. It breaks my heart every time I wake up in the middle of the night and he's not there. I always go look for him and I always find him on the balcony, just staring off into the ocean toward Midgar, with these unbelievably sad eyes. It's like he left something there that he just has to find again. But then, when I look closer, I can see how scared he is of it. He's scared to death of Midgar, but he can't escape it, either. I think that's what scares him the most._

_ And when I come up to him, he'll just try to hide it and tell me that everything's okay, when I know it isn't. Even when I say something, he reassures me that there's nothing wrong, but I can tell that he's really just trying to make himself believe it._

_ I want to tell him I love him, and that I'll always be with him, but... well, it's hard._

_ Vincent, please tell me what to do. Let me know what's wrong with him._

_From your friend,_

_Tifa Lockhart_

She was certainly right that he did not enjoy these dilemmas, but he was nothing if not empathetic. Still, the problem seemed uncharacteristically simple for a woman such as Tifa. She simply had to confess her love for him, come what may.

But he understood her dire straits, as well. He shared a bond with those two that was different from the others, and of the three, he had the marked distinction of having already experienced the (failed) affairs of the heart. Perhaps she had sent him a letter because they were so unusually close. He certainly shared an affinity with Cloud, and Tifa, perceptive as she was, had always sought his council in the few instances that she could not see through herself. This was one of them, and it seemed like an especially intimidating one.

Mumbling incoherently to himself, he placed the letter down on the bed stand and pulled out a sheet of his own, as well as a small, sharp piece of graphite.

_Tifa,_ he began, but crossed it out immediately. How should he go about doing this? He hadn't written a letter in a very long time, and he wanted to make his message as precise as possible.

Suddenly, a ray of light bounced off his paper. Surprised, he took a look out the window. _It's morning already?_ he said to himself, shocked at the sudden passage of time. Looking down, he noticed that aside from the crossed-out name, nothing at all had been written down in those night hours.

What HAD he spent those hours of night doing? Thoughts seemed to flow in and out of his mind as sleep and weariness threatened his consciousness. Knowing him, he had probably been thinking about his own misbegotten past, mourning that lost part of himself, searching its cobwebbed mirrors for clues. For lessons learned. For something productive. For something other than death and loneliness and turmoil.

Then, as if he had just realized what he had planned for the day's schedule, he quickly scribbled two words onto the paper, sealed it, and packed his meager belongings before swiftly exiting the room. Barret would be expecting him by tomorrow, so he had to make it to at least the Prairie du Corel by tonight. He nearly forgot to give the inn attendant the letter.

He had written two words on there, and they were simple enough, but he hoped that she would understand the urgency that drove them.

* * *

**Recuperation, Reminiscence, (Resurrection?)**

The rest was hard sought and well earned. The Sword, as small and frail as it was, was emaciated and on the verge of collapse as it pulled up onto Rocket Town's shores. Confused and surprised sailors and fishermen all clamored to either help the weary crew or gawk at them. The buzz and interest surrounding the small group was only given tinder as the exotic travelers were revealed – a half-human, a fire-tailed dog, a handsome warrior with a massive weapon, and an equally beautiful Junonian woman. The newly-arrived mutant in particular was scrutinized by everybody; his crimson cloak, his full-body jumpsuit, and his jet-black hair were both alien and intimidating, and he carried himself with an air that seemed to harken to ancient times, to the long-gone history of the Planet.

The murmur grew to an irritating hum as the gravity of the situation revealed itself: instead of the eight men who usually came and went with the tides and the Sword, there were only four that the people recognized. A quick look at the hull of the ship, at the large stresses in its structure, a short inspection of everything that was gone that was there before, and rumors began to fly like wildfire in prairie grass. They battled against fierce sea monsters, unfathomable creatures from the black depths. The missing crew members had mutinied and were executed for their transgressions. One of the more extravagant rumors went as such: After drifting into the midst of the storm a few days earlier, they had found themselves surrounded by a terrible mist, and after drifting through that mist for days without food or water, they were confronted by the mysterious man in red, and after he turned into a giant sea monster and tore through their ship, they offered him their four shipmates, and he commanded them to take him to shore to feast upon the hapless residents of Middle Earth.

The rumors continued to spread, like a tidal wave overtaking a surfer, and by the time the Sword's crew made it to a local inn, the innkeeper had already heard every tall tale spun about the exhausted troupe. All fifty-four of them. "So you're the unlucky bunch, eh?" she inquired lazily, swiping at the polished wood countertop with carefree abandon.

Vincent observed the town warily; he hadn't passed by this part of the now-massive city on his way to Wutai, but it seemed so much like the rest of this dysfunctional world. There was a strange, peculiar urge to vomit gathering inside of him. He had missed the signs of construction going on in the inner city – in what was left of the 'old' Rocket Town – but the large clearing where Cid's dreamlike Shinra No. 6 once stood was still vacant; its muddy surface wasn't paved over with cobblestones like the rest of the city was. Various grasses, weeds, and shrubbery were beginning to encroach upon the spot, but it seemed like the old residents of this city still remembered what the vehicle to space once symbolized and had fought to keep it so. That was the only thread of silver lining he could find in this futuristic perversion of the Planet.

As he followed the group into the inn, he glanced quickly at the name printed above its door: The Bucking Bronco. _Well,_ he mused, _at least not everyone's forgotten the past._

The innkeeper led them to their rooms, and there was little else besides rest, recuperation, and regeneration for the next few days.

* * *

Nanaki rose from the floor and stretched gracefully, extending his tail and muzzle to their limits. _Oh, this old age is getting to me,_ he said lazily before removing himself from beside the warming fire. It wasn't the Cosmo Candle, but it did a good enough job subduing him. He was surprised that there weren't more people enjoying the fire with him. After all, it wasn't every day you got to spend a nice couple of morning hours by the fire with a speaking canine. "Ah, what has this world come to?" he wondered aloud, padding softly to the dining hall, slinking past surprised guests and muttering half-hearted "Excuse me"s. To his surprise, Cirrus and Ruana were alone at the dining table; yesterday, the monstrous appetites of the four sailors had found satiation here, and he had half-expected the inn's pantry to be empty by now. "Where are young Nuboko and the others?"

Cirrus took a large bite of chicken before saying some long string of nonsensical muffles, but he understood that it had meant something along the lines of "They went to see Ms. Tcirchon." _Ah, yes, young Michael lived in this town, didn't he?_

"And why are you up so early, young Cirrus? I don't recall you ever rousing yourself until after midday."

The young man stripped another slab of meat off the bone and replied again.

"You're onto a self-appreciation function?" Leaping up onto the table, he took a large slab of breast meat for himself and began to feast. Ruana handed him a few slices of fruit and he quickly thanked her before eating the morsels from her hand.

"He's going to a Sephira coven, gramps," she explained for Cirrus, who nodded and continued to fill his belly. "Ugh, you're disgusting."

"A man's gotta eat," was his reply after taking a sip of water.

"And is this coven exclusive?" came the deep, soft-spoken voice from the dining room entrance. All three turned to Vincent.

"Ah, Vincent. Join us, why don't you," he answered dryly. Ruana and Cirrus traded glances between Vincent and Nanaki, unsure of what to do.

"I didn't come to argue with you, Nanaki."

"Of course not. It wouldn't do to argue with your benefactor when you're a homeless, vagrant, temperamental drifter like yourself, anyhow."

"The same can be said of the last member of a failed species."

He snickered and returned to his meal. "At least this failed species is a pure breed, not some mutated science experiment." The moment of silence afterward was like sweet music to his ears.

After a prolonged time, Vincent asked again, "Mr. Strife, can I attend this coven of yours?"

Cirrus, hesitant, eventually muttered, "O-of course, why not?" _Oh, young Cirrus, you fool,_ he chuckled mischievously. _Have you already forgotten what happened when the two of you met?_

Hearing that answer, Vincent calmly took a seat next to the male Strife and assumed to fork small bits of food onto his plate with his left hand, his FREAK hand, keeping his other at the ready by his side.

* * *

"...hey, Vincent." The two were making their way through a forested part of the city, one of the few forests left in the city. He glanced cursorily at Vincent, but the strange man's attention seemed to be drawn to everything else around them – the forests, the bushes, the very air of nature – a disapproving frown on his face. Or maybe it wasn't so much a frown as it was his normal expression; Cirrus sure hadn't seen much else on his face besides that. When the silence dragged on for a bit too long, he queried again, "Vincent."

Vincent's mouth opened ever so slightly, as if he were going to respond, then shut upon itself, then opened again. This continued on for several seconds, until finally he responded, "...he is dead; you cannot have him anymore..."

He blinked, unsure of what he had just heard. "Uh, what? What'd you say, Vincent?"

The other man's eyes, distant and detached, focused on him from afar and he replied, "My apologies, Mr. Strife. What is it?"

"I don't mean to intrude, but... is there some issue between the two of you?" When Vincent gave him a curious look, he clarified, "You and Gramps."

"Ah. That," Vincent acknowledged. "No need to worry, Mr. Strife-"

"Uh, you can just call me Cirrus, Vincent. This 'Mister' business makes me feel old."

Vincent nodded, apparently unconcerned about that. "-Cirrus. We have... differing opinions on the times we shared with each other."

He recalled Gramps's words the other day on the Sword, and he ventured to ask, "Like my grandfather?"

"...yes."

The curtness of his response cut deep into Cirrus's thoughts; he wasn't going to explain any further? It sure as hell wasn't the most eye-opening answer he'd ever received. Fighting the encroaching silence, he said, "Oh, uh... I'm curious. Why did you decide to come? Are you interested in the teachings of Sephiroth?" The last thing he would have expected was for Vincent to smile. It was a small, mirthless smile, filled with deep irony and thin humor and mostly disturbing memories.

"I already believe in Sephiroth," he corrected Cirrus with a touch of cynical amusement, and added, "I've come to see if his history has become as much of a quagmire as every other history."

He gave the queer gunslinger one last look before pointing out a left corner that led into a nearby forest.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Reprieve and Reparation END**

A/N: Well, that one was a doozy. It was actually slated to end with an encounter at the Sephiroth coven that Cirrus is going to, but I figured that the wait had been far too long for some; I needed some time to flesh out that scene, anyhow. Plus this serves as a nice sort of cliffhanger, so I suppose it's nothing I'm too ashamed of. This chapter was exceedingly hard for me to write, mainly because I felt like there was just too little happening. Or maybe there was too MUCH happening, I don't know. Regardless, it's here, it's done, and I hope you enjoyed it. I also made some changes to the previous chapters, though they boil down to little more than layout changes (eg. "Red XIII" was replaced with "Nanaki," different scene breaks were made uniform, etc.) to make individual chapters as homogenous as possible. Nothing in terms of content was removed. At least I don't think any content was altered.

As always, please enjoy.

EDIT: There's either something really tacky about the way MS Word works, or the uploading process of this site is screwed shitless. Every time I upload a file, it always has some sort of seemingly random font style edits done to it. If you notice anything that looks weird or strange, please let me know so that I can try fixing it. I think I may have figured out the problem, but it always finds some way to rear its ugly head.

**Endnotes:**

Sword of Gothard – Also known as the La Follette (French, lit. "the little madness" or "the crazy girl"). Joseph Gothard was a legendary warrior-king of the northern Icicle region. Legend has it that he was the one that united Gaea under one name. (Real-life inspiration comes from Joe Gothard, current principal of La Follette High School, my alma mater.)

Seto's Passage – The name given to the small ravine where Seto, Nanaki's father, staged his defense of Cosmo Canyon.

Hareton – Readers of classic literature will most likely recognize this name as Hareton Earnshaw, one of the many characters in the Emily Bronte novel, _Wuthering Heights_.

Okaasan – Mother. Think about the name "Michael Tcirchon" for a second. Think dinosaurs.

Childe – An ancient term signifying the child of a noble. In Stephen King's _The Dark Tower_ series, a childe is a "knight – or gunslinger – on a quest." King himself bases his story on Robert Browning's "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came."

"The friends who have flown before." – "Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before- / On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'" – Edgar Allan Poe, "The Raven"

"The Horn of Gilead blows steady." – Another reference to _The Dark Tower_. Cuthbert Allgood blows this horn at the battle of Jericho Hill, and it reappears in the final sentences of the epilogue to the saga.

Otosan – Father.

Henshin – Literally "transform" or "change shape." _Henshin no Kami_ means "God of change," as in the "god" that Akira transforms into.

Ziz – In Jewish mythology, Ziz is the ultimate being of the skies. It is the same type of monster as Behemoth and Leviathan, and it is said that at the end of the world, all three will be served at a banquet. Akira's original transformation was to be a version of Bahamut, but I changed it to a Behemoth (both of them share the same name and origin); after doing some research into the Behemoth, I decided that Ziz would be the most fitting. I hope the reason for the change is understood within the context of the story.

Kujata – Called Kjata in the game, Kujata (or Kujuta) is an ancient monster of Arabian mythology. It sits atop Bahamut and takes the form of a giant bull.

Garuda – A giant bird or bird-like divinity of Hindu mythology, and said to be as powerful as the fires that end the world. A legend of Garuda goes that he rose to fight all the gods... and won. In the FFVII world, there is another creature called a Garuda, though this is, like some of the real world's animals (komodo dragon, quetzal, Nike, etc.), a species of bird that simply borrows its name from this god.

Shiva – Interestingly enough, I learned that SHE is actually a HE. Hm... I wonder why Square decided to go the gender-switching route.

"...an equally beautiful Junonian woman..." – As coincidence would have it, Junon is spelled a lot like Juno, the wife of Jupiter (Hera and Zeus in Greek mythology, respectively). Juno's a beautiful female, Ruana's a beautiful female. What a coinky-dink.

Middle Earth – The continent upon which Midgar, Junon, Kalm, and the Chocobo Ranch are located. The continent is split into three distinct regions by the Himavat mountain range. (Himavat is the Hindu god of snow, the personification of the Himalayas.) Most readers will recognize this name as the setting for J. R. R. Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. "Middle-earth" or "Middel-erde" is the Middle English spelling of what is now "Midgard."

**To put things in perspective:**

**Middle Earth** – the eastern continent containing Midgar and Junon

**Corel** – the large middle continent, where North Corel, the Gold Saucer, and Nibelheim are located

**Makatewaki** – the stretch of land containing Gongaga and Cosmo Canyon (Makatewaki is from the Ojibwe tribe of Wisconsin and means "black earth")

**Wutai** – the western strip of land, where Wutai is the name of the capital city, country, and continent

**Mideel Islands **– the scattered islands to the south

**Gaea** – the northern continent, where Bone Village, the Icicle Inn, and the Northern Crater are located ("Gaea's Cliffs" are the steep mountains you have to pass in order to reach the Northern Crater)

The Sephira – A cult that worships Sephiroth. They operate under the belief that Sephiroth was the mastermind behind the Meteor disaster, and that he transcended godhood in the process. While they may or may not actually believe in Sephiroth, there are actual Sephiroth worshippers in real life. (Advent , for example, has a club created by worshippers of Sephiroth.)

**Extra Ramblings:**

Judging by the climates in the different parts of the FFVII world, it is reasonable to assume that the Northern Crater is most likely one of the two poles of the Planet. One notices that it is always night time around the Northern Crater, but the surrounding locales (Bone Village, Icicle Inn, etc.) show signs of sunlight. This indicates that the axis around which the Planet rotates is most likely oriented at a slight angle away from the sun, and it is always at this angle relative to the sun throughout its revolution. (This is a phenomenon that I haven't heard about, but it's certainly possible if there's another body nearby that's large enough to affect its orbital path.) Continuing on, it stands to reason that Costa del Sol is most likely located somewhere around the "South Pole," though seeing as there are humans living there, it must be located a few latitudinal degrees above the pole – humans need darkness to sleep, and if Costa del Sol were near the South Pole, it'd receive 24-hour sunshine. It's likely located as far north of the South Pole as the Icicle Inn is south of the North Pole. Assuming this to be true, one can infer the approximate location of the South Pole: somewhere in the ocean between Costa del Sol, Midgar, and Junon.

Assuming that the Planet is an Earth-sized planet, the eastern and central continents (Middle Earth and Corel in my story) would make up much of the southern hemisphere, and Wutai and Mideel would wrap around the North Pole. Many of the proportions suggested by the 2D map would be either exaggerated or condensed. For example, the crack in the ocean floor would be much smaller than it looks in the game.

Of course, all that is just really pointless inspection on a planet that doesn't even exist, or even have the characteristics of one that would. But it was still something fun to waste time thinking about. Plus it adds another hundred or so words to my story. That's always a plus.


	10. The Sephira

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

"Gramps," she said quite light-heartedly, hoping to sound quite carefree and innocent.

"What is it, Ruana?" he replied, turning to show her his serious demeanor. She should have known he would've caught on. The old dog was always way too perceptive.

Thrumming her fingers on the tabletop, she gazed out the colored window, watching dully as birds and people and various pieces of litter passed by. "Um... it's about Vincent. Why is he always so... hostile?"

Gramps laughed a bit before answering, "Hostile? Where did you get that impression?" She said nothing, evidently not amused. "My young Ruana, Vincent is... sensitive. His experiences have caused his outlook on life to be a bit grim."

"...does this have something to do with how he acted a few days ago? You know, at the Altar? He got so angry about you calling him a Kisaragi." Gramps thought about this for a second, and then nodded.

"Yes. Yes, that's certainly part of it. But tell me, Ruana: how old do you think he is?"

"Vincent? Well, I remember you telling us stories about him when we were children, so he must be pretty old... but he doesn't look much older than me or Cirrus."

He chuckled once and rose up to stretch, then said, "'Pretty old,' indeed. Believe it or not, Vincent's older than I am." Her attention was suddenly piqued, and the outside world suddenly seemed less interesting.

"W-what did you say?" she asked incredulously. He repeated himself. "But... but you're ANCIENT, Gramps!" He hmph-ed, and she looked at him, turned back to the window, and looked at him again. "Really?"

Gramps nodded. "Really." He continued, "About fifty years ago, he married a certain princess and took the name Kisaragi."

"Whoa, wait a minute. Fifty years ago? Yuffie Kisaragi? I thought she was a virgin!"

"Hah. Hardly. That's the story her father and clan made up for the history books. ...not very original, if you ask me. No, the two were very happily married. They even had a child. A daughter."

"...nuh uh..." A sinking feeling began to assault her, and she suddenly felt like she didn't want to hear the rest of the story.

"Uh huh." She felt that sickening repulsion kick in: she could already tell this story wasn't going to end well, but her curiosity still wasn't satisfied yet.

"So... what happened?"

Her grandfather became silent for a moment, and she saw the fire of his eye ebb just slightly, just enough to tell her that he was in deep pain. "...we fought a form of Jenova, like the one you encountered a few days ago. It was trying to revive its son and take over the world. The battle was hard-fought, and many of our comrades died in that battle.

"Yuffie Kisaragi was one of them. Vincent never forgave himself for letting that happen."

Ruana leaned on the windowsill, at a loss for words. Grandfather had never told her anything like this before... neither had her parents, for that matter. All the stories he'd told them about Vincent had been remarkable, awe-inspiring legends, and as a young child she had developed a crush on the stoic and noble gunslinger. But something like this... something so miserably sad as this... she had never believed it possible.

"...after she died, Vincent killed Jenova," he added, quietly, indistinctly, almost as if it were a passing thought.

"...but..." she finally commented, "...but why does he blame himself for something like that? He stopped Jenova, right? He should be proud of that!" She turned to Gramps. "Right, Gramps?"

Gramps nodded, and she saw his fiery tail fade a little bit, as well. "...yes," he answered. "Yes, he should be."

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Ten: The Sephira (Baptism)

"_We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another."  
- Jonathan Swift_

* * *

The sparse patches of forest surrounding Rocket Town, populated by coniferous and deciduous trees alike, seemed as alien and malevolent to Vincent as the bamboo in Wutai; he had a keen sense that, like the woods of Wutai, the danger lurked not within the nature surrounding him, but bubbled and oozed from some outsider, something alien to it.

As he and Cirrus approached a moderate clearing, he reached for the Quicksilver at his side. Two large men guarded the entrance to the clearing, each with ungainly, seven-foot long swords in their hands. They brought each to bear on the two visitors, and he could see their forearms straining to keep the false weapons at the ready. _I could twist your toys into putty if I wanted to,_ he snapped irritably, fixing the man directly across from him with an indifferent gaze.

"Who are you visitors?" one of the men asked, the tip of his sword wavering in the air in front of Cirrus's throat. "This is a special ceremony. Only the privileged may enter these hallowed grounds."

He'd already had enough. Swiping casually at the knife threatening him, Vincent took a step forward; as he had predicted, the fake Masamune swung wildly to the side, and its wielder struggled to bring it back, but by then he was already within striking distance.

"Hold, you!" The other man swung his blade, and it halted on the base of his neck. This one had some skill.

"Calm down, calm down!" Cirrus shouted, putting himself between the taller man and Vincent. "I am Cirrus Strife, Cherubic Archangel of the Cosmo Canyon Sephirot. Seraph Haams ordered me to speak to him."

"...recite the rite of passage."

"Estuans interius ira vehementi." Cirrus flattened his left palm, and chopped twice, once from his left shoulder to his right hip and again from the opposite shoulder, and brought it to his side, his open hand facing backward. After a moment, the man nodded, removed the blade from Vincent's throat, and returned the salute.

"We are honored, Cherub Strife. I am First Messenger Shem, and this is First Messenger Magid. You will find Seraph Haam in his quarters." He pointed to some sort of machine in the distant woods – to Vincent, it looked like some strange mixture between a flying carpet, a chariot, and a legless canine. Four large, tapering structures dug into the earth, supporting a wide, thick bed of metal and plastic, on top of which was a sizeable half-sphere. Surrounding and on decorating the dome were various implements, most of which seemed purely for decoration. The entire machine was some sort of iron or gunmetal black, except for various decorative banners and statues, all of which draped over or stood on the wide, flat bed. The ensign was colored a vibrant red – red for power – with a gold trim – gold for status – and the emblem adorned on each piece of cloth was that of a six-winged angel outlined in black on top of two yellow, intertwined rings.

But again, as he began to pass them, the guards crossed their swords to bar his path. He said nothing, looking forward with calm, collected eyes, and unclasped his gun-

"What's the meaning of this!?" shouted Cirrus as he rushed back. "Do you not see that he is a newcomer!? He doesn't deserve to be threatened like this!"

Neither man budged, and the one that had spoken before again answered, "He has not yet been initiated. We cannot let him pass."

Cirrus grabbed at the man's hand, and his fist seemed miniscule compared to the man's forearm. "I'll handle his initiation. Leave him be. As Cherubic Archangel of the Cosmo Canyon Sephirot, I order you."

After a moment of unspoken discussion, the two men relented and stepped to the side. Vincent silently strode past, forcefully removing his hand off the grip of the Quicksilver. Just as they turned away, though, Cirrus once again beckoned to the two.

"Vincent, only the Cherubic Archangel is allowed into Seraph Haams's private quarters. You'll have to stay with the main group. These two will make sure you aren't harmed." He looked first at Vincent, and when he nodded indifferently, looked at the two guards to make sure they understood their duty. After they nodded in consent, Cirrus turned and made his way toward the massive configuration of machinery.

They stood together in silence for a while longer. Vincent scanned the clearing, taking in the gathering crowd. All assembled were organized in neat, tight rows. Many carried the same perverted sword that Cirrus had wielded against him, and many more seemed to not be past their teens. He noticed the faint glow of Materia that rimmed the outside ranks of the mob, which more than likely indicated those of higher rank. _They seem like a... military. A dangerous one, at that._ They were assembled in front of a hastily-built wooden stage, complete with trapdoor in the center and podium with microphone near the edge.

"This way, sir," the largest man said, coming to take hold of his arm.

"…don't touch me." He took a position at the rear of the crowd, and waited. _Let's see what you know about Sephiroth, "Seraph Haams."_

* * *

The imposing transport was just as big and spacious as when he'd seen it in Cosmo Canyon. Sidestepping one of the four large engines, Cirrus made his way to the side of the craft and pulled himself up the steps leading to the dome-shaped living center.

"Seraph," he said, rapping twice on the heavily-shielded door. "Seraph, it is Cirrus Strife, Cherubic Archangel of the Cosmo-" The door suddenly swung open, and a long, middle-aged arm swung out and snagged his collar, pulling him into the chambers.

"Come, come, don't be so formal!" Seraph Haams shouted jovially, embracing Cirrus in a tight, surprisingly painful embrace. "How has my second-in-command been these past two weeks!?"

When he finally could, the young man released himself from the high priest's grip, making sure to keep a safe distance between himself and his leader, lest he be crushed again. There was a gleam of psychotic humor in Seraph Haams's eyes, some sort of happiness there that he hadn't seen before, almost as if the man had just experienced the birth of a child or some such thing. "I-I've been fine, Seraph."

"And Ruana?"

"She's fine, too."

"Your... your, ah... your dog thing-"

"Grandfather is doing fine, as well, Seraph."

"Good, good. Now, come here and sit- Where is your Masamune, Cirrus?" The overwhelming joyfulness that had covered his eyes now gave way to a small bit of concern, though it seemed miniscule, almost like a small cut not worth dealing with.

Cirrus fidgeted a bit, self-conscious and more than a little afraid. Seraph Haams's Masamune lay over by the worktable, no doubt being polished to a shiny perfection, but his massive load of Materia dangled from his neck like giant prayer beads. "It..." he started. "It... it was destroyed, Seraph."

"Destroyed? I don't believe that." The quick response jabbed at him. "The Masamune is an indestructible weapon made for Sephiroth himself. It cannot be broken. You know that."

"Yes, Seraph Haams, but-"

"Ah, no matter, no matter! That is of no concern, Cirrus! Come, come here! I have wonderful news to tell you!" Seraph Haams beckoned for him to follow him into the center of the domed room. As he made his way there, the ceiling began to light up in a montage of the stars in the night sky. The Seraph stood in a circular ring in the very center of the room and closed his eyes, spreading the fingers of his hands as he placed them, palm down, by his side. A cold, bitter wind fluttered at Cirrus's collar, and as he gazed, enraptured, at his leader's ecstatic face, the emerald Materia necklace he wore began to shimmer, wavering as energy poured in and out of them. Strands of green mist billowed from his fingertips and wove their way down into the intricate diagram of circles on the floor, soaking into the designs to create haunting, eerie hieroglyphs. "Look," Seraph Haams replied lazily, his mouth hanging open in rapture. "Look at the stars, Cirrus."

He did, wonder and amazement crowding his senses. The stars and planets came to life, surrounding him and streaking through space through him. _It's a projection,_ he noted in the back of his mind. Then the planets began to zoom by him, and he felt like he were moving, speeding along at an incredible rate, until he finally came to a halt above another planet, this one a mixture of blues, greens, and whites. Looking closely, he could see a dark patch of earth revolving around the globe. _This is the Planet._

"Look behind you, Cirrus." A streak of light, a speeding bullet, plowed through the recesses of space, heading on a straight path to the Planet. Cloaked in a striking trail of blue and white dust, the comet looked like some kind of celestial arrow, some being transcendent from mortality. Then he was suddenly moving in, in, closer to the object as it approached the Planet, and he was surrounded by the white and blue lights. He traveled deeper and deeper into the streaking fire, and he thought it would go on forever until he saw something. Something small, in the distance, but it was getting closer. Its body was silhouetted against the glaring backdrop of light, but he could faintly make out... one, two... three pairs of wings on it. _This isn't..._ Then the object, the creature in the midst of the holy fire came into full view, and he saw his face.

"...Sephiroth..."

"Yes... it is time, Cirrus.

"Sephiroth will return."

* * *

**Interlude: The Final Visit**

The gently tumbling water felt cool to the touch, but he had had enough of feeling and being cold. The exotic, almost extraterrestrial cavern pulsed with the warm, welcoming light of the Lifestream, but he had had enough of feeling warm and welcomed. Especially by a remnant of his past. He wanted more than anything for his past to be free.

His footfalls sounded loudly through the cavern, and the pipe organ seemed to echo them with an aching, reverent melody. The paean bounced up and down the haunting spires in the depths, booming into a sad, enchanting choir of meditating footsteps. He made his way in front of the softly luminous altar and touched his hand to his bare forehead. "I lost the gift you gave me, Lucrecia..." He laughed a little bit, a dry and brief laugh, but it still felt good to him. "I suppose it was bound to happen. I should've let you go sooner. For that I'm sorry."

The voice bounced through the cavern, and when it returned to him, he thought he heard hers mixed in it, beautiful and strong. But he was just romanticizing the situation. Removing the Death Penalty from his side, Vincent brought it up the steps. "I... I'm heading to North Corel. Barret wants help rebuilding the town. Seems he wants to bring it back to its former glory. I..." He laid the rifle on the ground by the glowing center, right where he had found it, and stepped down. "I can't give you back your chaos, but I can give you back your death penalty. Now you can go be with your son... and your husband."

He turned to leave, and with his back turned, he suddenly felt her presence, her form, emerge from the glimmering white light. _...you're going to make me return it?_

The humor was heartwarming and bitter at the same time, at once nostalgic and somber. He recalled that same statement repeated all those years ago, carrying the same tone and the same teasing and the same coy nature.

"'A gift is a gift is a gift'... right?" When he faced the altar again, she was gone, and he put the Death Penalty back in its rightful place. He kissed two fingers and pressed them to the floor, then replied, "I... I don't think I'll see you any more." When he turned to leave, she was staring at his back again, but by the time he reached the cavern's exit she was gone again.

* * *

"**Faith"**

The Sephira crowded him to the edge of the clearing, up onto a small mound where he could easily sit down and observe the stage. They were eager, in their pitiful, arrogant way, to see and hear, and, by the looks of it, to make love to, the deluded preaching of a religious zealot. He almost would have laughed if they had turned out to be more of the soul-deficient clones that Hojo had experimented on. It would have been some form of divine coincidence.

The massive crowd – it numbered in the hundreds, and he was surprised at the sheer size of the cult – chanted the code of the Sephira with zeal – it was an ancient language that he could not understand – and threw their hands around in wild and carefree demonstration of the Sephira salute. Had a spy... or a Turk... wished, he could have easily infiltrated the ranks of this blundering mass simply by observing the actions: upon entering any gathering, all he would have to do was mimic what he had seen. For all its frills and beliefs and "traditions" and hierarchy, the Sephira was little more than a ragtag group of party-goers.

The uproar abruptly ceased as, in the distance, the carpet/chariot/amputated dog mixture thrummed to life. Speakers on its outer walls began to blare out a deep, brooding song, and the four spiked "legs" began spewing forth exhaust, lifting the pad they supported into the air. From their vantage point, the onlookers couldn't see the large craft until it had risen above the stage, and when it did, they joined the song as a spontaneous choir was formed. They yelled out the "rite of passage" in time with the song, the palpable exuberance growing and growing as the flying disc floated above the stage.

Vincent suddenly felt something wash over him like a wave of air, and he felt a force trying to enter his mind. Confused, he looked around, and to his surprise, the forest had turned into a choir of angels, each with six wings and reverent smiles, and when he looked back at the stage, it had become a brilliant sun. _That is no sun... something just happened._

As soon as he thought that, the spell dimmed, and the trees became trees and the stage became a stage and the disfigured machine became a disfigured machine. Anger welled up in him, strong, righteous anger. _Shoot it, whoever it is, for even thinking of deluding us,_ the gritty voice of Chaos told him, itself horrifically enraged – though when was it not? – but he simply hugged his knees in a loose embrace.

_Be quiet, Chaos._

The crowd had turned into an orgy, each and every man or boy moaning out the lyrics of the song, pumping their salute with reckless abandon. Someone stepped out of the bulging womb of the ghastly machine, and a godly being peered out at the crowd through the peach- and rose-colored clouds. He observed the illusion and the deception, mildly impressed with the "Seraph Haams's" ability to mislead the masses; the man would have made an excellent Turk.

Green orbs shined feverishly in a long chain around his neck, and as he grasped a rope dangling from a large winch system, they flared even brighter, sending another shockwave of energy through the crowd. It slammed into him again, but he was ready, and the wave receded reluctantly. He could destroy the illusion, if he wanted. He could restore each and every one of their minds, and he could reveal to them the truth. But he had only come to observe.

The man-god descended, both grasping the rope and unfurling his single massive angel wing. When he touched down on the center of the stage, his parish went into an even more raucous uproar than before; the god, with his brilliant blond hair streaming behind him, flared the wing to its full expanse, reaching several meters across before flashing into brilliant motes of holiness. The machine/clouds receded into the background, and the heavens began to rise, until they were no longer up in the sky, but back down on earth, in a forest with a wooden stage in front of them. Only after the illusion and the reality were interchangeable did the green Materia slowly fade and the spell pass. The man knew how to fool them.

He spoke, spreading his arms to encompass his coven. "MY PEOPLE!" he shouted, to which the crowd answered, "MY KING!"

"MY PEOPLE!"

"MY KING!"

He paced around the stage. "I have great news for you, my people! Great news, WONDERFUL news!" He paced a bit more, paused. Built suspense, excitement. The man was truly good at controlling their minds. "Some of you may wonder why I called you here. To those that do: do not regret your resolve in our Lord Sephiroth!" The name alone sent them into a frenzy. "For TWENTY-FIVE years! THREE HUNDRED months! For ENDLESS DAYS have I WAITED for this day! Have YOU waited for this day! For I tell you, my people, our Lord Sephiroth will RETURN again!"

The crowd was ecstatic. He felt like shooting the man.

"Five days, two hours, forty-six minutes, and thirteen seconds ago, I was deep in the forests of Mideel! I remember the day and time, because that, my people, was the moment that AFFIRMED my beliefs! I was preparing, constantly preparing myself for the return of his Lord, when I had a VISION! I had a vision unlike ANY before!" Another pause, another building of electricity. "I know, and YOU know, how Lord Sephiroth transcended this Planet with the fall of the Holy Stone, Meteor! How he ASCENDED TO GODHOOD, and even BEYOND!

"I was training, training like all of you, my people! As we ALL must train to become his soldiers! His WARRIORS! I was training when suddenly I was THROWN into the air and beyond! Up, and up, and into the universe that only the Bahamuts had known, and I knew then that only ONE had that power! ONE Lord! OUR Lord! MY PEOPLE!"

"MY KING!"

"I GAZED out at the expanse, at the WORLD that was his, and I was enthralled! I saw the world that WAS, and then I saw the world that WILL BE! I was ECSTATIC! To see that SOMETHING was near! SOMETHING was near the Planet, and as I looked at it, I got closer and closer, and what did I see!?" Many offered answers in the pause, just as he had wanted. "I SAW OUR LORD SEPHIROTH!" he bellowed, and everybody experienced a miracle. Two young ones near him fainted in reverie. It was like a drug.

"Our Lord Sephiroth is APPROACHING, my people! He is approaching, and we, his BELEIVERS, WE will lead this Planet to ascension when he returns! BEHOLD!"

He pulled out his Masamune with his left hand and waved it like a banner. "MY PEOPLE! TWENTY-FIVE years have we waited for his return, and MANY have doubted us! MANY have BETRAYED us, and we have had to PUNISH THEM!" Cheers rang out from the crowd, cheers about killing a comrade who had simply realized the truth. "I tell you now! Our Lord Sephiroth, in his VISION, his INFINITE VISION, bestowed upon me a new strength! BEHOLD!" With a shake, the "Seraph" let out a battle cry, and every single Materia sparked into blazing glory. The green energy swirled around him like fireflies. "Believe in his POWER! Believe in the STRENGTH HE GIVES!"

A horrendous whine sounded as the air was sucked into him, and when he swiped his blade to the left, another terrific shriek like that of a banshee accompanied it, and something green, something indecipherably powerful shot from the sword, arcing through the air and pulverizing through trees and earth and air, pulling the very energy of the world with it. It sped out, further and further, a blazing green-

"**KRRAAAAOO!!**" The magic had a voice of its own, and in it was the most immaculate destruction he'd ever known. The forest disappeared. Everything was lost in a circle of green and white, and Vincent's eyes widened as he fought, unprepared, against the waves of energy that peppered him.

The blast eventually faded, but the roar did not. The Sephira continued it, shouting and gnashing and bellowing, and only after Vincent's trepidation passed did he realize that he'd been clenching the Quicksilver, struggling to keep from shooting everyone in the back of their head.

"...**MY PEOPLE!**" was the call.

"**MY KING!**" was the response.

* * *

It was soon over. Exhausted and weary from all the religious devotion, the "Rocket Town Sephirot," or whatever this bloody convention was called, disbanded and spread to infect the rest of the world with their ideals. Vincent waited by the same entrance for the young Strife, but when he arrived, Vincent was less than pleased to find the old "Seraph Haams" with him.

"Greetings, young man! Cirrus tells me you wish to know more about the Lord Sephiroth!" A sick, evil, deceiving left hand stretched forth, as if it expected to shake his. The rage was evident in his eyes when he turned them on Cirrus, who unconsciously took a step back. He offered his own left hand, saw the man cringe ever so slightly as he too took a step back, and a bit of grim satisfaction tickled him.

"Cirrus is mistaken," he snapped, bringing his hand back underneath his cape. "I came to observe the mockery this world has made of him. That is all."

"Oh? Are you yet another unbeliever? You know, every unbeliever that has challenged us has been converted." He said this with a self-satisfied smirk. "Why, even Cirrus, my very own second-in-command, was an unbeliever like you once." He crossed his arms, well at ease with himself.

"I know what you did." The even reply clearly caught him off-guard, as a beautiful play of emotions distorted and contorted his already disfigured face. "You cannot fool me like you can the weak-minded gathered here." Vincent took a good look at Cirrus, who was now confused, as he could also sense the panic starting to show in Seraph Haams's posture.

"...h-hah! You ARE amusing, unbeliever! There is no foolery to the powers bestowed upon me! Perhaps your ignorant and blind eyes did not notice the scorched earth that was a result of the powers I gained through worship of the Lord Sephiroth!"

His left fist clenched tightly; he wanted so badly to gouge this man's eyes out and end the nonsense that had pervaded this world. "Sephiroth was no Lord, nor did he ever 'ascend.' Sephiroth died before Meteor fell. Sephiroth was a fool that sought what no mortal can attain."

"And how do you know this, unbeliever?"

"Because I was the one who killed him."

Seraph Haams burst into laughter upon hearing that, belting out large, boisterous guffaws that threw out spittle and days-old food and ignorance. "Hah hah hah! YOU!? YOU were the one who kill- who killed- hee hee- who killed S-S-hoo hoo- Sephiroth!? Hah hah hah! Who is the fool now, I wonder!? You can be no older than CIRRUS is, and you KILLED Sephiroth!" The man's continuing chortles sounded like the wails of a dying rat, and the impulse to rip the stupid man's tongue out of his godforsaken mouth had such a strong tang in his mind. "Unbeliever, you DO amuse me. When you were still a boy, I was perfecting my devotion to Lord Sephiroth."

He smiled then, a smile that he knew wasn't one he wore often, one that was reserved for those who had truly bemused him, and Seraph Haams's laughter died off, leaving only a moronic slack-jawed half-smile on his face.

"It must have taken you a long time to collect all that Materia, Seraph." Before the other man could answer, he continued, "When the time comes, none of them will be able to protect you."

Given another chance to talk, Seraph Haams seemed to once again regain his composure. With another hearty snicker, he asked, "Oh? And who would I need protection from?"

"Me." His smile never faded, and he continued to hold the Seraph's gaze. Cirrus said something and began to drag him off, and he relented, but he locked the Seraph with his smile until they rounded a tree and broke eye contact.

His smile had promised death.

* * *

They were on the edge of Rocket Town. Ruana had apparently called in transportation for them. As it was, he was currently waiting in a diner, along with Nanaki and the twins. Nuboko, after trading goodbyes with the other three, had decided to stay with his three shipmates and the mother of one of their fallen comrades. Theirs would be a long journey; it would take a very long time to repair the Sword of Gothard, and he knew that it would take even longer for them to recuperate from such a loss.

In a few more days, he would be back where he had started. No, that wasn't true. He would be back where he had believed he'd never be again. _Lucrecia... are you still at peace? I wonder, now._ He thrummed his claws on the wooden table, eliciting more than a few shocked reprimands from the staff for denting it.

The day before had been one of many frustrations. After having been led off by Cirrus, he'd received a stern lecture from the young man about respect and the like. He'd also learned that Nanaki, in all his wisdom, had told them much of his past. Or at least enough about Hojo and Jenova for them to infer about his involvement in their respective destruction.

He'd also learned that, officially, Sephiroth never existed. For that matter, neither had Jenova. Meteor had been a disaster of astronomy, and Shinra had been the sole force behind its destruction. It figured. Only Shinra was powerful enough to rewrite the history books. The only plus to the entire story was that Shinra was now completely gone.

"Young ones, leave us for a moment. I need to talk to Vincent alone." They nodded and got up. Ruana looked back at him sadly as she followed Cirrus outside, and he wondered briefly what had depressed her. Nanaki rested his front paws on the counter, eliciting another bout of reprimands from the diner's owner. "Vincent, I want to apologize."

"Hm?"

"Yesterday. And on the boat. I said things I shouldn't have." He glanced curiously at the canine and pondered his response.

"...it is... water under the bridge, Nanaki."

When he didn't say anything else, Nanaki appeared to be a bit distressed. "Is that it?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Should I demand more?"

"Well... it seemed like a bit more serious matter to me."

"Beg and grovel, then." Nanaki blinked and looked at him, then laughed, and Vincent allowed himself a small amount of comfort. As he moved to head out front with Cirrus and Ruana, Nanaki stopped him once again. "What is it?"

"I told them about you. I told them... a lot about you. I hope you don't mind."

He thought about it as he stood up to go, then turned around and replied, "...I'm sorry for what I said, as well."

"'Water under the bridge.'"

Heading toward the door on the far end of the diner, Vincent looked out the window at the siblings and noticed that they were busy conversing with an elderly woman, and quite an animated one, at that. Stepping out the front door, he coolly observed this old woman, patiently biding his time.

She locked eyes with him, and all conversation ceased. Her eyes began to grow huge, her wrinkled lips dropped in an expressive "O" of surprise, and her frail arms, one clutching onto a wooden walking stick, began to tremble finely. Cirrus and Ruana both turned to see what she was staring at, and, noticing him, Ruana asked, "Oh, hi, Vincent. This woman was just asking about you. Do you know her at all?"

"Vincent?" The words fell out of her mouth in a high, airy, and timid breeze, but he could recognize its tone anywhere. But it'd been fifty years! He had hardly expected to see her again!

"...is that you, Shera?"

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Sephira (Baptism) END**

A/N: Oh shizzle! Ze drama, ze drama! Apparently, Red XIII isn't the only one left from way back when. As always, happy reading. This chapter is... I believe it's one of the shorter ones thus far, but I think I prefer shorter chapters over long, drawn-out ones. While writing the Sephira portion of this chapter, I found myself constantly comparing them to either the KKK or the modern-day Televangelists. Not having very favorable opinions of either one, I suppose it's only natural that Vincent's thoughts on the Sephira would reflect my own.

But enough of that. I hope I'm not drawing this story out too much. I know some of you must be wondering just what the hell is really supposed to be the point of this story. Hopefully, the central plot will be unveiled a bit more once they reach Lucrecia's Cavern, and that should come within the next two chapters or so. Should. Don't take that as a promise or anything.

Oh, and if you notice any discrepancies (grammar issues, canon issues, story continuity issues, etc.), please feel free to let me know.

**Notes:**

Jonathan Swift – An Irish author most well-known for _Gulliver's Travels._

Cherub/Seraph – In Christian mythology, seraphim are the highest order of angels, followed by cherubim. (In Judaism and the Kabbalah, seraphim and cherubim are somewhere around the fifth and tenth orders, respectively.)

Archangel - The term "archangel," in Christianity, refers to a lower order of angels than seraphim and cherubim, but in the Kabbalah, each of the ten orders of angels has its own archangel that is representative of one of the ten Sephirot. In Judaism, there are only seven archangels, and I can't remember how they're structured. I assume they're a lot like they are in the Kabbalah.

Popular culture depicts the archangels as some of the highest angels (Michael, Gabriel, etc.), so I decided to pair it up with cherub/seraph.

Sephirot – The Sephirot, depending on the context, can refer to either a diagram of ten interconnected circles or any of the individual circles that make it up. The diagram, also known as the Systema Sephiroticum (System of the Sephirot), is an important symbol in Jewish beliefs – it represents, among many other things, the ten forms of God. In the story, the "Cosmo Canyon Sephirot" simply refers to the portion of the Sephira that resides in the Cosmo Canyon area.

"Estuans interius ira vehementi." – "Burning inside with violent anger." The opening lyrics of "One-Winged Angel," which plays during the fight against Safer Sephiroth.

"...six-winged angel ... two yellow, intertwined rings." – Seraphim are said, in Isaiah 6:1-2, to have six wings each: "...I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lifted, and the train of His robe filled the temple. Above it stood seraphim; each one had six wings: with two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew." The two intertwined rings are the same as those that float behind Safer Sephiroth. Some fansites have said that these two rings represent the "Empyrean Halo aka the 'Celestial Rose,' the final Heaven and the abode of God in The Divine Comedy" (The Final Fantasy Wiki). However, since none of these sites offer any sort of source for their information, I take it with a grain of salt (and you should, too). I just use it because it makes for a nice motif.

Shem and Magid – Shem is apparently one of the sons of Noah. I didn't know that; it just sounded neat to me. Magid is a character from Zadie Smith's _White Teeth_.

Lucrecia's Cavern – While I understand the changes that were made to Lucrecia's cave in the updating of FFVII, I prefer the original look to the new crystal-filled one. I also appreciate the more... blasé appearance of the original cave more than the rather unoriginal designs used in Dirge of Cerberus. For those that don't remember, the cave entrance quickly leads to a circular room. In the back of the cave is a set of steps leading to a glowing altar-like area (which is where Lucrecia appears) with a clam- or pipe organ-shaped extension behind it. In the background are receding rows of pillars that start wide at the base and taper near the top. There is a heavy violet/orchid color scheme in contrast to the glowing blue of the Mako crystals in DoC.

Norton Haams – Norton is named after Nort, the devil-grass eater in Stephen King's _The Dark Tower_ series.


	11. Hubris

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

Shera stared at the back of her hands and found herself wondering whose hands they were. Sitting across from her, Vincent was his same, nonchalant self, though she detected a certain sadness, a layer of grief unlike the ones she'd become accustomed to seeing in him. Next to him, with his paws on the table, was Nanaki, that strange little wolf-like creature that she had always found so endearingly cuddly as a young woman. They both looked the same as they did five decades ago, and perhaps that was it. She half-expected her own brittle hands to be as full and vibrant, almost like she had taken a trip back in time.

So preoccupied was she with turning her hands around and finding new grooves and wrinkles that had probably been there for a long time that she didn't hear Vincent's question at first.

"Shera," he replied calmly again, and she was roused out of her reverie.

"Oh, dear. I am sorry, Vincent... I just... I almost didn't recognize myself..." Caressing her hands together, she frowned slightly and brought them to rest on her lap under the table. "What did you say, Vincent?"

"How is Cid?"

"Cid? ...oh, my son. He died a long time ago, Vincent." Tears suddenly threatened to burst, but she held them in check and smiled sadly at him. "Oh, don't pity me, Vincent." She swiped at the tears that pooled in her eyes. "Cid was always happy. Always living life to the fullest." She smiled and pointed a finger at the ageless, timeless man in front of her. "He was just like his father... you remember, don't you, Vincent? When he was little, he would run around-"

"-with his hands spread like wings," Vincent finished for her, and she was touched by his words.

"He called himself the Tiny Bronco," Nanaki added. She nodded, and though her lip quivered at the memory, she kept her poise. She was strong now. She was as strong as she was then, and she felt that maybe their youthful appearances had helped rejuvenate her somehow.

"Yes, exactly. He grew up looking at the stars. He never wanted to take his eyes off them – once, when he was seven years old, he asked me why the stars disappeared during the daytime. He said, 'Momma, don't they like me?'" And she laughed at that pristine, childish, nostalgic moment. "When Yuffie died-"

Nanaki coughed and Vincent turned away. With an apologetic gasp, she made to hold his hands, even his clawed one, because she wanted him to know. "Oh, I-I'm sorry, Vincent. I should never have-"

He shied away from her, and she suddenly felt as old as her shriveled and impoverished fingers looked. They looked like the tendrils of some decrepit gnome now. But Vincent eventually turned back and shook his head solemnly.

"No, it's fine. There's no reason you can't talk about-"

"Gramps, Vincent, the truck is here," Ruana announced from across the diner, and Vincent nodded before rising.

"It was... nice... to see you again, Shera," he muttered before heading for the door, and his words made her feel funny, like the feeling a grandmother received when her grandson greeted her. _You're getting along in life, old gal._

"Thank you for coming all this way to see us off, Shera," Nanaki replied as he too made for the door.

She paused a second, then asked, "Oh, Vincent?" He turned around, looking at her with those unintentionally piercing gaze. "You will come to see me again, won't you?" _Spoken like a true grandma._

He considered it for a second, and then nodded. "We'll see."

_Spoken like a true grandson._

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Eleven: Hubris

_Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,  
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ  
So many times among "The Band" – to wit,  
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed  
Their steps – that just to fail as they, seemed best.  
And all the doubt was now – should I be fit?_

_- Robert Browning, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" Stanza VII_

* * *

Coming back, for the first time being able to view the town without a half-separated shoulder, Vincent was surprised to see that it seemed to be one of the few unchanged landscapes in this new world. As the road led into Nibelheim, he could make out the familiar circular throng of houses that surrounded the town well; a few additions had been made since he went to sleep, a few more houses dotted around the perimeter, but it was still the same Nibelheim that haunted him every night.

The cold, moist air wafting down from the Nibel Mountains continued to give the rural town its morbid, somber atmosphere. The truck stopped just outside the town's main entrance, and the motley crew jumbled out and made their way into the local inn.

The Shinra Mansion was gone. Atop that hill, where the imposing and leering eyes of the mansion used to keep watch over Nibelheim – watch? Perhaps "loom" was a better description – only evening sun glow breached the valley town, the misty light dispersed by various pieces of machinery and construction equipment. They looked like they had been abandoned for a short while, and he supposed that it was either due to the constant rain that peppered this town or his timely intervention a few months before.

Either way, the construction workers were no longer present.

Even the inn was the same. Fifty years, it seemed, was not enough to change everything. He found disturbing comfort in that, as well as a bit of irony. _The thing most unchanged is the thing I most despise._ The sole room upstairs contained a trio of beds, and the view out the window was that of the Nibel countryside.

Everything here was the same. Just like fifty years ago. Just like six years before that. Just like the five before that. And thirty before that.

Perhaps this town, like him, was the ultimate monument to all mankind's sins.

* * *

The winding path still stood. In the minimal light of evening, it seemed to lead straight into the bowels of Hell. A pulley had been rigged above it, no doubt to extract any secrets the deep might have held. And, like all things in Hell, the secret they uncovered turned out to be dangerous. The planks that had once lined the inside walls of the tunnel were now little more than soggy mush, replaced by hastily-created plastic boards that had been driven into the walls with stakes.

"So..." Nanaki began, gazing deep into the abysmal core of the tunnel. "I'd never imagined I'd be here again."

"I'd never imagined I'd leave here again. Yet here we are."

"Hm."

He took a step onto the first platform, and the plastic, though damp and shaky, held fast. He went further, and his gold-rimmed boots easily found purchase on the dew-slicked surface. The two proceeded down, and all the while he felt that tickling in the back of his spine intensify, like some sort of dark and ominous spider had crawled into his cape collar and was threatening to bite, to inject him with all its noxious poisons.

When they reached the bottom, what little light had penetrated from above reflected off the cavern's mineral-rich walls. _Like the eyes of monsters._ With a quick snap, Vincent pulled the dangling rope off its pulley; collecting as much of it as he could, he rested one end on the ground near the entrance.

The moss that grew in the Nibel area was renowned for the oil that it produced. When he'd first been assigned to the mansion, he'd observed the builders of the mansion using torches of moss and dung to light the darkened hallway while they worked.

Placing his index finger on the saturated tip of the rope, Vincent cast a small spark onto it and watched as the fire slowly spread the length of the rope. Throwing down a patch of rope as they went along, he continued to look around him. _So much like a home, yet so much like a prison..._

"Wouldn't the workers have cleared out the laboratory by now, Vincent?"

"No."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't." He continued on in silence for a moment. "I sealed the entrance before I went to North Corel."

Nanaki didn't say anything else, and they continued down the dimly-lit cavern. As they passed his tomb, he couldn't help but feel a small impulse to return and sleep again. Who cared about what happened now, after all? _The world has moved on. I should leave it alone._ But that thought quickly came and went, and they found themselves standing in front of a dead end. Without a word or second thought, he reached forward with his clawed hand and sunk its digits into the keyhole, twisted once clockwise, and pulled back.

With the groans of a dying elder, the large slab of stone slowly followed his grip, its massive width grinding into the earth and ceiling, drawing dust and maggots onto his shoulders. He strained against the pressure of the monolith, pressing his other hand onto its opposite side to gain more leverage. Finally, after a draining exercise in patience, he removed his claw from the lock and observed the unopened, unblemished, and wholly plain door. Looking at it now, it hardly seemed to be the birthplace of the end of the world.

He grasped the doorknob and turned.

* * *

The Childe proceeds to Revelations...

Read, read Childe did, and saw!  
Saw as well? saw the world –  
The Childe's world, contained in his word  
And in my word.

Listened! Childe did to the music  
Of the dark, both my dark and his dark,  
And the taint, night that we birthed  
in the Childe.

In thy name, Science! All for  
Science, immaculate progenitor of  
the Fallen Angel, of the world's shame,  
The world's glory.

Onward, onward the Childe marched,  
To the start of all things. Approaching  
the Apocalypse the Childe seeks – What  
shall the Childe ask?

What shall I answer?

* * *

**Interlude: Komm, susser Tod, komm sel'ge Ruh**

Dead. All dead. All except him. Again.

_Why?_ _Why me? Why, why, why?_

His hands shook. He looked at the grave marker. It was plain, just a flat stake in the ground. Her name was painted on it.

_Why?_

He asked himself why. He didn't answer his question. It was too much to ask, and too much to answer.

He had been unable to save Lucrecia. She had been tested on. She had lived thirty years longer than she had to. She had been... _Stupid enough to offer herself._ _You reap what you sow._

It was a bad thought. A nasty thought. He felt much better.

He had been unable to save Sephiroth. He had grown up knowing war. He had been deluded and misled and controlled. He had lived thirty years longer than he had to. He had been... _Too weak to save himself. Too weak to be anything worthy. Just like his father._

They were friendly company. He enjoyed their presence.

It had been Cloud, Tifa, Rude, Tseng, Elena, Cid, Reno, Barret, and Yuffie, in that order. He had handed them his curse in that order. His new Turks weren't spared, either.

Dead. All dead. All except him. Again.

She had died, too. He had been there. His love's son had killed her when he was there. Jenova had killed Cloud when he was there. It had killed Tifa when he was there. It had killed everybody... when he was there.

Yuffie had died... when he was there.

Always because he was there. Always because of him. Always.

...but never him.

He had to go. His half-dead body didn't belong here. Not in the world of the living.

He had to go.

He belonged with the dead.

He walked away from the grave. Kisaragi-dono was to the west. Mina was behind him. Wutai was to the back of him.

He would go back to sleep.

* * *

**The First Revelations**

The door opened with a muffled growl, and stale air rushed past them as they made their way into the ancient, cobwebbed laboratory. Everything was still in its place – twin Mako chambers sat in the far corner behind an operating table strewn with books and glassware, various shelves were scattered along the circular room, some holding jars full of preservatives and preservations, and others holding airtight canisters of chemicals, and still others acting as hanging racks for various scientific utensils. To his left and extending down a long hallway were rows of innumerable volumes of text; before sealing the room, he had taken the time to meticulously rearrange and restack all the manuscripts.

Something caught his eye, though, and he stared at it warily. A lone hardcover, unadorned in any way, lay in front of him on the floor, a volume that he knew couldn't possibly belong to any scientific series on the shelves.

And it had most definitely hadn't been there when he had left.

"What is it, Vincent?" Nanaki asked, tracing the line of his gaze to the small bound text.

_Something put this here,_ he answered. _Something wanted... knew we would be here._ The room suddenly lost the very little interest it had had. He wanted to be gone, and he wanted to do it NOW. _Run, murderer, run. Run away. You killed her. You killed all of them. _The shadows in the room seemed to snicker at him, and from above he could tell that the cracked painting that had been painted there all those years ago depicted a ravaging war between Hades and the Round Table Knights, and the carnage seemed about ready to pour down on them; a drip drip of rainwater seeped down through the stone, and when it struck his shoulder he could have sworn he saw red cruor soaking into the crimson cape.

He should have been used to it; it was no different from before, no more menacing, and he had been living here for well over half a century, but he couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere, above or below or in the corners of the room, but SOMEWHERE, something was watching him. _The eyes of the new evolution look upon you... sinner._

_Shut up, Chaos!_ he commanded, but it sounded futile and meek, even to him.

His hand shook as it unclasped the Death Penalty. It was calming, but even the trapped souls inside it were a bit uneasy.

Cautiously, Vincent trod to the book and inspected it. The pages were yellowing with age, and the binding was stiff and cracked loudly as he flipped the cover open.

"This was not here before," he finally answered, carefully scooping it from off the floor and balancing it in his left hand.

The sticky pages clung together and turned in bunches, but they weren't so molded together that he couldn't separate individual sheets. As he inspected the writing, he noted that while age had dimmed the ink, the writing was still clear and legible.

Or at least moderately so. Hojo's handwriting had never been particularly decipherable to anyone but himself. Perhaps it had been intentional.

The first few pages were myriad ramblings on the Jenova Project, and it was nothing he didn't already know about. He scanned a few pages forward. Near the center of the book, though, the pages suddenly went blank, only to continue again a few pages later. He perused them curiously.

_This is..._

"What is it, Vincent?" Next to him, Nanaki was visibly unnerved by the Mansion's ominous laboratory. Perhaps his companion had sensed much of the same fear as he had.

"'22 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year. December. Acquired new specimen. Prime candidate for Jenova infusion. Codename: Turk 01,'" he recited, and as he did he fixed Nanaki with a humorless stare. "This is the record of Hojo's experiments. On me." He began to feel a faint queasiness settle into his gut. _Jenova infusion..._ Sephiroth had been injected with Jenova; he tried to destroy the world. Hojo had been injected with Jenova; he mutated into a hideous caricature of himself. Cloud had been injected with Jenova; he died because of it.

...Lucrecia had been injected with Jenova.

_The Jenova inside me wouldn't let me die..._

_Nor will I let you._ The voice... he knew now. The voice wasn't Chaos... This one was almost feminine, almost nurturing, almost soothing. It was almost convincing. _Now do you SEE!?_

Something speared into his head and he clenched his teeth against the instant agony, twisting his neck as something shot out from inside his head, something dark and chaotic and... comforting. Chaos bellowed and its roar echoed through his skull, threatening to shatter his head.

_BE STILL, VERMIN!_

Was that Chaos or Jenova!? He couldn't tell, he couldn't tell, but then both voices suddenly disappeared, and the pain vanished along with them.

He could see that Nanaki had also realized the truth, and the dog looked at him, concern for both of their lives conflicting in his single orange iris. He recovered quickly and turned to him. "I haven't changed for eighty years. I won't start now," he said, hoping to soothe Nanaki's worried look, and he only partially succeeded as the canine's claws slowly retracted. There was still a strong stiffness in his spine.

For a moment, he thought about returning to the book, but the laboratory suddenly seemed to grow even darker, even more like the depths of hell, like the sort of place that no man ever wished to see. "...I think we should go," he surmised, and, hearing Nanaki agree, he slowly backed out of the lab, the closed book clutched in his grip. As the door closed, he felt some foreboding presence leer out at him from inside the room, some dark and menacing presence that horrified him because he knew he couldn't fight it. The ghosts of Shinra Mansion whispered to him, whispered to him of the black and secret things they had seen, and that he was to join them.

* * *

Ruana couldn't sleep that night. She had visited Nibelheim a handful of times in the past, and each time the town had seemed blanketed in an invisible layer of despair. The colors seemed faded and mute, the air felt stagnant like a mausoleum, and the never-ending humidity acted as ghostly tendrils that made her skin crawl. At least tonight that mansion was no longer there on the hill overlooking town. To her, and to countless others, she was sure, it had always looked alive, somehow, with its heavily-tinted windows, gaping front door, and tongue-like cobblestone walkway.

Gramps and Vincent had left almost immediately after they had checked in at the inn that evening, but she was still awake when they came back that night. Unconsciously, Ruana cringed and feigned sleep when she heard Vincent's booted feet enter the single room and stride to his bed, the furthest from the entrance. He sat down softly on his bed, and there was a rustling as he removed his three firearms and placed them within easy reach. He probably had one under his pillow; from what little she knew about him, it seemed like something he would've done.

He simply sat there for a while, and she couldn't tell just what he was doing. There was a distinct feeling of his eyes on her, and the sensation made her feel a little uncomfortable, but she was surprised to find that she almost welcomed his attention. Nevertheless, she found it even harder to fall asleep, and with him just sitting there, OGLING her, she struggled to keep her breathing calm and deep.

"Go to sleep, Ms. Strife," he said finally, and there was something different about his voice when he said it; it was still monotonous, still very formal and nonchalant, but... something had changed, and it caused her to turn around in bed and face him.

"Did you know this whole time?" she asked, to which he nodded. His gaze went out of focus, as if his thoughts were elsewhere, as if he were thinking of something far off in the distance. _Or maybe it's in the past,_ she told herself. She felt foolish for having thought that he'd been looking at her.

The silence dragged on, but it was a calm, almost meditative silence. It reminded her a lot of her talk with him on Nuboko's ship. She liked looking at him. She hadn't paid much attention before, but he really was... handsome. His face was hauntingly beautiful, and the way his hair framed his face only seemed to highlight him that much more. His body was equally good-looking, even garbed as he was in that tattered jumpsuit of his. His right arm, uncovered by his sleeve from the elbow down, was well-defined and muscular, the hand equally well-formed. Judging by his face, one would've thought that he was a tender, frail man, but she could see how well he filled out his attire.

_...he's sexy._

No sooner had that thought escaped her gutter than she quickly shut her eyes to allow herself some sort of reprieve. _God, you need to slap yourself._ It was probably her hormones.

"Where did you and Gramps go?" she said, breaking the silence and giving her an excuse to focus on something other than his blue-lit figure.

Vincent pulled out a hardcover book and passed it from hand to hand, still lost deep in thought. The urge to ask again was intense, but she knew that he would say whatever he wanted to say in time.

"The ruins of the mansion. We found this there."

"What's that?"

"A record book. Of... experiments."

"On you?"

"...yes. Now go to sleep, Ms. Strife."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine. You need rest, that's all."

"Thanks, but there are still things to be talked about." Vincent grumbled lowly, a pleasant sound that passed as his version of a chuckle. "What?"

He put the book down on the bed and answered, "Cloud said almost the exact same thing once."

_Cloud... my grandfather..._ She pushed up onto her hands and hips, and her curiosity about this mysterious man was piqued even more. "Can... can you tell me about him? About..." In spite of herself, she nearly choked on his name. "...Cloud?"

But again, just like on the boat, Vincent shook his head. "In order for you to accept one truth, you must first doubt another. I will tell you the truth about Cloud when you are willing to accept it."

"I AM willing to accept the truth, Vincent!" she proclaimed quietly in the darkness.

"You're not. Not yet, Ms. Strife. Now get some sleep," he replied calmly and rose to his feet.

Ruana sighed in frustration and promptly fell back to bed. But, as he passed by her, she couldn't help but secretly stare at his attractive body. _I can still look. Even if he IS a bit of a jackass..._

She followed him with her eyes, up to the room's doorway, where he was silhouetted in a field of blue haze. Suddenly, he said, "Stop staring at me, Ms. Strife." And unlike his first statement to her, which had just hinted at a warmth in the ageless gunslinger, his tone now was deathly cold. Like he would hurt her if she didn't comply.

Once again, he horrified her.

* * *

She woke up again later, in the darkest hour of the night. Try as she might, she couldn't will herself back asleep, and, when in her rearranging of body parts noticed that the bed next to hers – Vincent's – was empty, lost all desire to fall back to sleep.

Cirrus was asleep, as he usually was at night (and during much of the day, if he had his way), and she quietly slipped past him and out of the room, shivering lightly as the cool mountain air wafted through her nightclothes.

_Wait a second._ Someone else was missing, too. Someone else had been in the room with them, but who had it...

"Where do you think you're going?"

_Gramps!_ She nearly yelped at the inquiring voice before realizing that it had come from downstairs, by the reception desk. Curious, she tiptoed her way to the edge of the stairs, taking pains to be as silent as the grave as she sat down on the top step.

There were the footfalls of an angry, furious person. "I asked you where you were going." Gramps's voice.

"I can't waste any more time, Nanaki. Move." Was that... Vincent?

"We'll go in the morning. All of us."

"I don't have time for that anymore. I have to find the answers NOW."

"And then what, Vincent? You know you can't face Jenova alone."

"I won't become another one of its puppets."

"And how do you know that?"

Silence. Silence, then...

"What if Jenova takes over tomorrow?" Vincent. _Take over?_

"What if Jenova takes over tonight?" Gramps.

More silence.

"Jenova clearly wants you, Vincent. If we go tomorrow, at least we can..." The rest was left unsaid, as if there was already an understanding of what "at least we can," but she didn't understand it at all. At least we can what? And why the hell were they talking about Jenova so much?

"...if it happens, don't hesitate. I did." The voice was somber, melancholy, but with a thick overtone of commanding.

"Vincent, none of us could have known that Cloud-" _Cloud?_

"Do NOT hesitate, Nanaki."

"I never said I would."

Confused, sleepy, and overwhelmed, Ruana quickly and quietly made her way back to her room. The conversation continued on downstairs, but she had heard more than enough to thoroughly muddle her brains.

She didn't sleep much that night.

* * *

The trek up the mountainside took only a few hours, and by midday they had made it to the waterfall. The circular lake was just like Nibelheim, mostly unchanged. Its crystalline water still ran unblemished straight to the sea floor, a few hundred feet down below.

Rounding the crest of the mountain, he felt a mixed anxiety and joyous reunion upon seeing the distinctive pool of water and the waterfall that ran above it. When he had left, he had thought that it made for a fitting burial place, beautiful and pristine, for a woman of Lucrecia's caliber. Now, though, as he felt the weight of the book slapping against his back shoulder in a makeshift sack (which he also decided to fill with extra ammunition and his gun-cleaning kit), he wondered if she, like him, had truly died in that cavern.

Looking back, he caught the eyes of Ruana Strife as she came over the mountaintop. With a shocked blush, the young woman averted her eyes and grew shy and timid, seeming to sink even deeper inside herself. He wondered briefly if he had done something to upset her before turning back to his own path. _She doesn't deserve to be pitied._ She was a walking mess of delusions. Wutai, Cloud, and now... this. The girl had constantly stared at him last night. It had aggravated him beyond nothing else. The stupid girl was becoming unhealthily obsessed with him. It was not good for her.

_Yuffie... you would've jumped on her if she had so much as blinked at me._ The thought was a comforting one, and it was not far from the truth. He touched the crest on his forehead and smiled faintly to himself.

* * *

The action was not lost on her. Vincent, that horrifying and malevolent enigma, raised his hand to touch the green band on his head, the band that had the royal crest of Wutai pressed onto it. She found the action made her feel both hatred and envy. She hated that this man, who was obviously suffering from his past, couldn't see it in himself to move on. She would've been willing to help him. She would have, had he not spat on her with those intensely hateful words last night.

She envied the young girl that had succeeded once in changing him. It wasn't hard to see that he had once been a different man. A much different man. Perhaps even a good man. Somehow, someway, this Yuffie Kisaragi had brought him from the edge of destruction. She felt like she had to do the same.

* * *

The glowing altar presented itself to him upon their entrance, and the cavern was just as barren now as it was before, those alien pillars stretching as far back into the depths of the mountain as he could see.

Something was here, though. He knew something was here. She had to be here.

"Lucrecia," he whispered into the ambient darkness. Again, like in all his visits before, his voice, though low and quiet and muffled, carried throughout the chamber, bouncing off the walls and the pillars and the back of the cave, and when it returned to him it was something else entirely, a new voice that seemed to have been warped from his own.

_...Vincent...?_

"You put this there, didn't you?" he asked, setting the sack on the ground and rummaging through it until he found the old record book. When there was only silence, he frowned.

Behind him, Nanaki and the twins formed a loose half-circle around the cave entrance. Nanaki was crouched low, and it was clear from his stance that he was ready to pounce. Cirrus's grip on the Atma Weapon tightened. Ruana had her two swords sheathed, but her hands rested warily on their handles.

"Lucrecia," he demanded again, this time a bit louder. "I know you're here. Answer me." When there was still no answer, he sighed and continued up the altar steps. "You don't have to hide anymore, Lucrecia."

"Who's HIding, VINcent?" He leapt back and drew the Death Penalty as something suddenly appeared in front of him, rising from the depths of the glowing altar like some sort of vile chick out of an egg. The figure slowly bubbled and shifted within itself, and soon a distinguishable arm shot out from the mass of flesh. In the background, he heard Ruana gasp and draw her swords, and Nanaki snarled.

The creature finally created and full, it rose up and smiled at him.

_Lucrecia..._

"Hello, Vincent. It's been such a long time since I last saw you."

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Hubris END**

A/N: Much like the last chapter, this chapter was originally slated to run a little bit longer – in this case, to the conclusion of the cavern scene. But, with as much new information as was added, I'll leave the next bit for the next chapter. I hope you don't mind.

As always, many thanks go out to reviewers. Special thanks go out to T. Costa for thinking enough of this story to link to it.

**Notes:**

87-year old Shera – Shera's age isn't ever mentioned in the game, so I made a guess and figured it at 31 years of age (which would make her one year younger than Cid). While thinking of her character as it progressed through the years, I always imagined her having Gloria Stuart's voice (who plays the 100-year old Rose Dawson Calvert in _Titanic_). So if that helps you imagine things, then there you go.

"Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came," Stanza VII – Interesting in that it reflects not only one of the themes (I hope) of the story, but also the series number. Stanza VII, Final Fantasy VII. Figure that.

"Perhaps this town ... was the ultimate monument to all mankind's sins." – "I? I am a monument to all your sins." – The Gravemind, _Halo 3_

Komm, susser Tod, komm sel'ge Ruh – The opening lyrics of Bach's "Komm, susser Tod." The phrase is German and says, "Come, sweet Death, come blessed Rest."


	12. Lucrecia's Cavern

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

He needed to get away.

Akira propped himself up as the morning rays approached. This was his last chance, this moment before his mother woke. He'd already packed his gear and weapons; to back out now would only lead to his being found out later. No, he had to leave before any suspicions could be stirred.

_Listen to me,_ he muttered to himself as he scanned the wooden halls of the palace for any sentries. _You'd think my home was my prison._

But as he thought more on it, he realized that it wasn't very far from the truth. Since he'd been just a boy, he had been under constant control by his parents. Even now, he'd yet to be married, and with the way his life was being run, the chances weren't very great that he'd have a choice in deciding his wife.

And there was also the question of Valentine-san. What did the mysterious and soft-spoken gunslinger mean to him? To Okaasan?

He could slip out through the forest in the back of the palace. His feet like ghostly footprints, Akira slipped through the hallways, and he soon found himself in the courtyard in the back of the complex. He took a step forward...

_Do I really wan t to do this?_ he wondered briefly, adjusting the straps on the light baggage on his back. _Okaasan won't approve... neither will Otosan, for that matter._ He had been here his entire life. He had only ever left Wutai on a handful of occasions. He knew how to survive in the wild, but this... this was taking too much of a step forward. He couldn't do it.

"Akira." The voice, powerful and commanding, stopped him in his tracks. _Guess I don't even have a choice, now._ Turning to face Otosan, Akira fell to his knees and bowed deeply.

"Otosan, please understand. I- I wasn't-"

"You should go, Akira."

_What?_ "What?" He looked up at that, incredulous, and for a brief moment he forgot the customs of Wutai. His father stood above him, his arms crossed and his shoulders broad and thick.

"Don't argue with me. If you're going to go, then go. I'll keep Okaasan at bay... as best I can." He grinned wryly, his shoulders slouching as he sat down on the veranda. "If you don't know your family's history, then you don't know anything. You are a leaf that doesn't know it is part of a tree."

"A leaf without a tree." Akira kowtowed, his mind lost in deep thought.

He'd never known anything outside his hometown. For the twenty-five years he'd been alive, he'd never had to worry about whether he would eat his next meal or whether there was anything that he was unable to do, no matter how extravagant or outlandish his request. He'd been given everything.

On the other hand, he'd never known anything about his lineage, either. For the twenty-five years he'd been alive, he'd been pampered and catered to, and he'd been restrained. He had been forced to keep his anger in check. He had been told what to do and when to do it and how and why. He had been deceived.

As he looked back up into the face of his father, Akira felt a new resolve seep into his bones like the simple answer to the most indecipherable riddle. "Thank you, Otosan."

"What are you talking about? I ordered you to come back, and when I was distracted by a cicada, you took off."

"Otosan, there aren't any cicadas in spring."

"My, what a beautiful sound. I think I'll take a closer look." He looked up and saw Otosan scrutinizing a nearby leaf. There were no cicada songs in the air.

_Thank you for letting me free, Otosan._ That thought firmly driving him, Akira made sure his father's words came true.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Twelve: Lucrecia's Cavern

_A place I have never seen  
Is where I return to.  
A place where I have finally regained  
The only life that I have._

_- Akino Arai, "Voices" (liberal translation)_

* * *

They stared at each other, one kneeling, gun drawn, the other standing, her arms spread serenely. At the cavern's entrance, Nanaki and the twins held their position, their body weights still converged on the balls of their feet, ready to move in any direction at a moment's notice.

"Why so surprised, Vincent?" Lucrecia asked, squatting down to look at him levelly. "I thought you would've been happy to see me."

He slowly rose to his feet, making sure to keep himself a good distance away from her. As she stepped down, he stepped back; as she stepped off the altar, he stepped into the center of the cavern.

"I thought you died," he answered quietly, and, as an addendum, "I thought SHE died."

Lucrecia chuckled lightly, raising her arms as if to show that she was unarmed. Her body was still clothed in the lab coat she had been wearing when he had last seen her 'alive,' and there was a small brooch, or a crystal, something that glowed like Materia dangling from her necklace.

"You don't remember?" she said lightheartedly, laughing, her eyes locked with his and smiling at him, smiling in a decidedly sinister fashion. "'The Jenova in me wouldn't let me die.' And I never did, Vincent. That poor lover of yours was always-"

PWINGSHH! The slug crashed into something invisible, straining against the barrier before veering off to the side and crashing into one of the pillars behind her. She smiled lovingly at him, her eyes tracing the path of the trailing smoke from his barrel.

"Tsk, tsk. C'mon, Vincent. You know you can't kill me with that. Who do you think GAVE you that weapon?" Extending her arm, she wrenched at the open air, and he felt his arm snap with it, the shoulder wound he'd suffered long ago suddenly threatening to open up again.

The instant and gashing pain caused him to scream in agony, the Death Penalty rocketing from his hand, snapping more than a few fingers as it did. "Argh!" Gasping as the new wave of pain ripped into his right arm, he tried to clutch both his torn shoulder and the three middle fingers of his hand. He sucked in breath and gritted his teeth against the pain, his eyes flashing murderous red as he glared up at the devilish form of Lucrecia. The lab manual tumbled to the floor beside him.

"Vincent!" Nanaki cried from behind him, and each of the three rushed up to help their injured partner. PW-WINGSHH! Two shrieks of the Death Penalty drove into the ground, sending a spider web of fractures through the cavern floor and a shower of pellets to stop the advancing trio.

Casually, Lucrecia brought the smoking barrel to her lips and blew the softly-billowing exhaust. "Hang on a minute, 'kay? I'll deal with you three in just a sec." She examined the rifle, gripping its handle stock as if it were a sword, scrutinizing the long-worn scratches on the barrel's surface. "Wow. You really liked this thing, huh?" she commented, fingering the scarred metal. "You must've done... a lot with it." She smiled prettily at him, and he wanted to throw up because he had never seen that smile filled with such malice. Seeing the book next to him, she laughed once and said, "Oh, so you got that gift, too, huh? I tell you, Vincent, I'm here working so hard, giving you all these things, and the only thing you can do is whine about a couple of fingers."

"So," he hissed through his flaring eyes and gritting teeth, "she was never... never here... You..." His breath caught in his throat, coming out choked as he momentarily lost eye contact with her. _Jenova... Lucrecia..._ the muffled voice of Chaos muttered from the depths of his mind.

While raising his head to face the dark harbinger again, he put a mental clamp on his mind. _You won't trick me like she did._ "You... gave me her death... and her chaos... You were there from the... beginning, weren't you?"

Her countenance visibly changed upon hearing his words, and he thought he noticed a peculiar grimace run through her features, but that evil grin once again swept her features into a maniacal glee reminiscent of Hojo. "The beginning? No, no, no, Vincent. She was SO CLOSE to letting go when you found her, Vincent. Aw, you should've seen it. She saw you, and then her eyes went all bright and glistening and she said to me, 'He's going to kill you.' And you know what? You DID kill me. The biggest part of me, at least. So I guess that's bravo to her. But doing all that talking and reminiscing took so much out of her, and after you left, she finally couldn't hold me at check anymore." She stretched languidly, her long limbs splaying beautifully in the glowing radiance. His heart both melted and burned furiously at her exquisiteness. How could something so perfect have succumbed to something so hideous? "But oooh, how it pissed me off! So I left this little present here for you." She waved the rifle around like a baton, her thin and lithe fingers seemingly at odds with its massive bulk.

_Jenova..._ Chaos's voice rose in pitch, almost as if the beast were truly, completely enraged.

"The Death Penalty..." he began, ignoring the monotonous _Jenova_s that Chaos chanted. "...and Chaos... were yours all along, weren't they?"

Lucrecia's brow again furrowed in disdain and confused contemplation. What had stumped her? What about his words was making her anxious? _What are you thinking, Lucrecia?_

_Jenova...!_

But she quickly smirched her lovely face with another murky and dirty smile, stating, "Of course, Vincent. And with the bang-up job you've done with this little work of art, I think you deserve a well-earned reward." She pondered for a moment, bringing her hand up to tap her chin as if she were deep in thought. "In fact, I'll tell you this: that girl you're so fond of? I put her in stasis in the tomb of your second life. She was still alive and kicking, so I couldn't risk her getting control back. I'm sure you understand. That's how you managed to kill me fifty years ago." Lucrecia laughed and laughed until she had to brace herself with one hand on her knees, the other waving the Death Penalty at him as if to tell him to stop pulling whatever joke he was pulling. He hissed as he snapped his three dislocated fingers back into place, his jaw locked as he felt the bones and sinew grind against each other in harmonious torment. His vision was starting to go red, completely red, and he felt a bulge threatening to rip apart his shoulder bones.

_Jenova!_

After her bout of perverse laughter finally ended, she looked at him, still chuckling, and replied, "But I really, REALLY suggest you don't go there. The only thing that'll happen is that you'll die. Not that it's any of my concern, but I've got a reputation to keep." After a thought, she added, "Then again, I suppose it doesn't matter WHAT I tell you. After all, Hojo's Reunion Theory was proven-"

"**RAAAAAAAEHH!"** He sprang forward, blind for all the crimson he saw, his voice a different octave and register, charging, charging at the damned half-dead monster, wanting chaos and destruction but mostly chaos and he wanted it now wanted it to come from her breast from her chest from her fucking heart wanted it to bleed and he wanted to drink its blood

_**BOW beFORE your MASter, BOY, and BEG for MY merCY!**_

* * *

"**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHH! **AGH! AAH! **AAAAH!**" Vincent's voice cut off as he fell crumpled to the floor, clutching at his head... no, _tearing_ at it. His metallic digits dug into the flesh of his temple, and even his right hand, mangled and broken as it was, scraped feebly at the side of his head.

"VINCENT!" he shouted, but his plea was overtaken by the gunslinger's horrendous throes. "Ruana, Cirrus! MOVE!" They fanned out and rushed again, and the Jenova snickered before taking aim at Ruana with the Death Penalty and at Cirrus with her open palm.

"Aw, don't be so quick to anger, kids!" she replied in a cheerful, upbeat manner. He roared and charged, rushing to rend and emaciate her unprotected throat. Vincent's form suddenly arched back in front of him, and the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart was heard as massive purple wings ripped through Vincent's shoulders, trailing gore and membranes and the tattered black cloth of Vincent's jumpsuit. Everyone ceased at the sight of the inhuman protrusions.

"_**AAAAAAAGGGGGHH!**_" the tormented gunslinger roared as the deathly violet wings, spanning almost the diameter of the cavernous room, spasmodically attempted flight, only to flop to the floor and twitch fitfully as Vincent's screams echoed through and through the cavern and formed a melody of ghostly moans, pleas, and wails.

Leaping over Vincent's locked form, he snarled and snapped open his large claws-

"Get away from me!" A white-hot orb shone from the base of her neck, and he suddenly found himself tumbling back through Vincent, knocking the convulsing man out of his stillness. The acrid odor of burnt fur singed his nose like pungent acid, and he coughed involuntarily. To his right, Cirrus groaned painfully, prying himself off from the cavern wall. His shoulder pad was completely fragmented, and it crumbled off his shoulder with each step he took.

Ruana swept at the Jenova with reckless abandon, her twin blades creating beautiful slashes of light as they flickered in and out of existence, Ruana herself a frenzied blur of motion as she fought to strike her target. Lucrecia, laughing like a madwoman, twirled about the altar, letting each strike come within just a hair's inch before dancing away again. The cavern wall where Ruana had previously been was fractured with the impact of another of the Death Penalty's rounds. Finally, as the female Strife's blade finally zeroed in on Lucrecia's chest, she brought the Death Penalty back up and sparks flew as it crashed into Ruana's blades. "My, but you're fast, little girl! Be careful not to slip and fall!" she suggested as their weapons impacted again and again.

_Damn it all. Why'd it have to come to this?_ he wondered, focusing deeply before directing another portion of his spirit into the Materia hidden in his collar. The effect left him drained and wobbly on his feet, but a circle of light enfolded Vincent's still-catatonic form and swirled in a protective manner about him. A stray beam of energy arced into the ceiling, and he barely had time to leap away before the falling debris crashed into the ground, forming a loose circle around Vincent. That done, he hobbled around his friend and rushed back into the fray.

Things had somehow turned into a standoff: Cirrus held the blunted, blue Atma Weapon at the ready, his sister's agonized form behind him, and Lucrecia staring evenly at the pair, the Death Penalty aimed squarely at the tip of Cirrus's weapon. Ruana clutched at her ribs, where the side had been seared open and dark blood and burnt muscle both gushed out from between her fingers. She was desperately trying to concentrate, to focus on sealing the gaping hole, but he could tell that she was failing.

"Ruana..." he said, his mind feeling sluggish and old. He felt for the Materia again, but he was getting more and more tired and weary. _Again... Just like then..._ With a low grumble, Nanaki took another step – his hind legs buckled and he stumbled to get back to his feet – before closing his eye and searching once more. Deeply this time. Deeply.

Into the Planet, into his sacred motherland...

_My Mother, we seek your aid._

Dots of rainbow energy swirled around all three of them, and he was revitalized, his weariness temporarily forgotten. Ruana's wound closed, leaving a pale green skin in its place. Cirrus's Atma Weapon seemed to suck the magic right into itself, its blade sharpening and forming a tempered aura and the glyphs on its broad side shimmering to life.

"Hm. Impressive for two kids and a dog," Jenova-Lucrecia noted, that endearing and spiteful face of hers still unblemished and beaming. Ruana rose to her feet and readied her remaining wakizashi. "But I've got some things to take care of. I'll make sure to visit again, 'kay?"

Nanaki's fur stood on end and he tightened himself to spring as she glanced in his direction, toward Vincent. The man had stopped his vehement and violent thrashing and was unconscious, an alarmingly large pool of liquid forming around his eerily still body. Chaos's wings protruding from his back were slowly beginning to recede back to wherever they came from, the muffled sounds of crunching and gyrating and gnawing of bones causing him to involuntarily shudder.

"...Chaos..." Lucrecia whispered, and he had time to wonder about the... the...

_Fear?_

Then she vanished and the cavern was thrown into silence.

No one spoke.

Or moved.

All was still.

Still.

"...uuugh..."

"Vincent!"

* * *

He barked harshly, forcing a confused Ruana to stop. "Gramps, he needs help!" she insisted, but Nanaki shook his head forcefully.

"Wait. Don't go near him," he ordered, his eye staring intently at the bleeding man as he weakly, dimly tried to get to his feet. She cringed and clenched her fist to her chest, worried. _Worried about a man she hardly knows... Ruana..._ "He may not be who you think he is."

Upon hearing his words, she whirled on him and half-whispered, half-cried, "Don't say that, Gramps! It didn't take over!"

Had she heard them last night? Half of him was impressed at the thought; she truly was becoming an adept at Wutainese Ninjutsu. The other half was alarmed at the news she must have overheard; it would only, COULD only, serve to muddy her perspective on this situation.

"...ugh..." Vincent managed to crawl to his knees before the torn muscles in his shoulder caused him to wretch and fall back into the puddle of blood. The digested food and fluid slowly drifted in a lazy circular path away from him, as if even they were afraid of the changes that had overtaken the mysterious gunslinger.

The sight of Vincent failing to regain his balance spurred Ruana to disobey his orders; before he could stop her, she was rushing over to Vincent's struggling form, reaching out to help-

"DON'T **TOUCH ME**!" he shouted, swiping at her in a savage arc with his claw, and she yelped and retreated. Nanaki nearly pounced to bite open his throat right then and there, but as Vincent began to feebly crawl out of his own bodily fluids, he retracted his claws and let his bristly fur settle back into place. "D-don't... touch me..." Vincent repeated, hissing with the effort of the words, his long hair forming a tousled, disheveled drape around his face.

He padded slowly, cautiously, to within five feet of Vincent before asking, "Are you okay now, Vincent?" After managing to place himself in a half-slouching sitting position, Vincent nodded as best he could. His right hand continued to palm his forehead as if he suffered from massive head trauma.

"...I... I felt..."

"Don't talk." He tried to sense the magic eddying inside him again, but Vincent waved his concern away and managed to perform just a small healing spell, just enough to staunch the bleeding in both his head and his shoulders. He settled to a sitting position and began unbuckling the blood-soaked cape that would surely weigh him down later, gingerly; the wounds in his back still gaped open, and the entire left side of his face was mutilated, deep gouges running from the top of his head down to his cheek and chin. Ruana made her way to his side to cure his wounds, but he motioned faintly for her to pause.

"There was..." Vincent whispered, his left hand reaching up as if grasping his head, "...and there was..." He did the same with the broken fingers of his right hand and shook both back and forth, at a loss for words. His hands clashed back and forth like gladiators, one advancing and retreating while the other did the opposite. "They were... they were..."

Nanaki looked on and observed Vincent's enigmatic motions; he noticed the way Vincent's pupils, contrasted against their furiously bright irises, constantly shifting from circular blacks to catlike slits and back again, and how his skin was flushed with just a tinge of violet, like something ran just under his skin.

"...clashing..." And Vincent's eyes suddenly closed and he fell to his side. With a surprised cry, Ruana hastily and thoroughly healed his wounds and went to take his bloody cloak.

Nanaki rose, shook the weariness from his body, and took a look at Cirrus as he walked up, the Atma Weapon once again pressed against his back. "Pick him up, Cirrus. Get the book. We need to get back."

Cirrus nodded distractedly, his arms still trembling with adrenaline and fear. "Yeah, sure thing, Gramps," he replied and moved to the unconscious body, grunting with the effort of lifting Vincent's weight. Nanaki looked back into the cavern with a deep sense of foreboding. His mind tried to comprehend everything Jenova had just told them.

_Jenova knows Chaos. _As he continued to ponder that, he realized that Jenova had even seemed... scared of Chaos? Surprised? _Did Jenova not know about Chaos?_ How could Jenova, who knew everything about the victims it infected, have possibly not known about Chaos? _Why was it... frightened by Chaos?_

And what about Lucrecia? Was the woman truly alive? Had Jenova really been telling the truth? He found that prospect to be a bit dubious. _Probably a plot to snare Vincent. Still..._ He had to wonder. In a wicked and twisted sort of way, it made perfect sense. Someone as powerful as Sephiroth surely would've been the offspring of an equally powerful mother; she wouldn't have simply disappeared from the world like he had assumed. He had been a fool to think such a thing.

A cramp seized his leg, cutting off his thoughts and causing him to stubbornly shake the limb loose. Those complex thoughts would have to wait until later. First, he had to get his grandchildren back to Nibelheim.

_...well, this trip is certainly turning out to be an interesting romp across the world,_ he muttered to himself as they exited the cavern. The cramp insistently returned again, and he grumbled fussily with it.

He was getting too old for these grand adventures.

* * *

Ruana slept very little that night, much like the night before; she found herself constantly returning to Vincent's sleeping chamber to check on him. They had moved him into one of the vacant houses across the courtyard from the inn and placed him in one of the second-story rooms. Gramps stayed there for the night, but she also came in at regular intervals, always just standing in the doorway to Vincent's room and gazing at his sleeping form. She would gaze at the dark profile of his that, even in his sleep, seemed to exude a quiet air of despair and suffering. She felt an intense urge to go and touch that beautifully chiseled face of his, but was also repulsed by the promise of severe injury should she get too close.

_He's like a... a wild animal._

In the next room, she heard Gramps snoring lightly, not quite completely asleep, and she had to do her best to keep him from waking fully, though she knew that he must've detected at least one of her many entrances that night. If he did, though, he never gave any indication of stopping her.

The next morning, she came upon the sudden realization that she was in the inn's dining room, a display of eggs, cheese, meat, and bread spread before her. _How did I get here?_ she wondered absentmindedly, half conscious of herself forking food onto her plate. With a spark of logical thought, she poured herself some refrigerated juice and chugged the entire glass, feeling the cold liquid instantly shock her out of her sleepy daze.

"Ah, much better," she said to herself, settling down to fully enjoy the meal.

"What is?" Cirrus asked as he entered, his battle gear replaced with a simple shirt and jeans.

She pointed to her plate and explained, "I just woke up."

"Yeah, I can see. Where were you this morning?"

"In here, apparently."

"You don't remember?" he asked as he sat down opposite her, grabbing a plate and scooping his fill.

She shook her head. "No. I think I might've been sleepwalking."

He held a forkful of eggs at his lips and questioned, "You saw him last night, didn't you?" She nodded. "You woke me up when you left."

"Sorry."

"Ruana." The seriousness in his tone made her look up from her plate, chewing a strip of bacon. "Are you... what are you doing?"

"What are you talking about?" she retorted, slightly irritated.

"Look, I know it's none of my business, but-"

"So drop it."

He softly slammed the table, glaring furiously at her. "God damn it, Ruana! I'm just trying to look out for you! He's not a person you should be getting all flustered and goo-goo eyes over!" He jabbed a finger in the direction of the house where Vincent was sleeping.

She snickered and eyed him with a sardonic amusement. "Why, because he made you look bad in front of Mr. Haams?" He quieted at that, seething. "I bet Vincent embarrassed you pretty badly, huh?"

"Fuck you." She smiled at him as he bolted up and turned to leave. Then, pinching his nose, he groaned and sat back down, rubbing his face to warm it. "Sorry, sorry. Look, I'm just trying to protect you."

"Who said I needed protection?"

"I did, Ruana! The man tried to KILL you! Twice! I can't believe you can still stand him!"

"We've talked."

He paused for a moment before asking, "About what?"

She sighed and pushed her plate away. It suddenly didn't look so appealing. "We..." She thought about their conversations. "We talked about... well, mostly it was just me apologizing. But we did talk a bit about... about him." A bitter taste settled in her mouth, both from the name and the fresh memory of his vehement rejection.

"Who's 'him?'"

"Cloud." They were both silent for a long time.

Ever since they'd been born, their father had only spoken about Cloud a few times, and whenever he had, he had spoken of him with such venom and repressed rage that they could only have assumed that Cloud had done something horrible. When they asked him once, he had told them simply that Cloud had abandoned their uncle and himself, and that he had even killed their grandmother, a woman named Tifa. Needless to say, it was not a legacy that they very much appreciated.

But now... Ruana was unsure. And as she looked at Cirrus, she saw that he was, too.

"...so what did he say about him?" Cirrus asked finally.

"Oh... not much, actually. He keeps saying that he'll tell me when I'm ready to know, so... nothing, yet. But I DO know that Cloud's got something to do with this Jenova thing."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I overheard him talking about it with Gramps two nights ago."

"Y'think maybe...?"

"Huh?"

Cirrus shook his head and rested his chin on his palm, his elbows propped against the table. "I dunno... It's probably nothing, but... When we first met him, Vincent seemed to get so mad when we mentioned Cloud. Maybe... maybe he knows something that Dad didn't. I mean, Dad said that he left him and his brother when they were only kids, so... I don't know."

"No, no, I know what you mean. I think you're right, Cirrus. But... he won't tell us anything." _He won't tell ME anything._ She was hurt by that thought; she still couldn't understand why his silence was so unmoving and stubborn.

"Yeah..." There was another period of silence, and they took the time to pick away at their breakfast; Ruana noticed how Cirrus seemingly wasn't affected at all by their discussion – he still shoveled food on and off his plate with ease. _How can he still eat like that?_ She herself was simply mashing her eggs into mush.

After swallowing some more, Cirrus said again, "Now that I think about it, it's almost like he's here to tell us the truth about EVERYTHING." When she looked questioningly at him, he continued, "Right? I mean, he pops up and all of a sudden, I find myself questioning my ancestry, questioning Gramps, and especially questioning the Sephira. I mean, it's almost like he knows things about Sephiroth that even Seraph Haams doesn't. I find it hard to believe, but still... he seems so sure of himself."

"I know what you mean. Whenever I say something bad about Wutai, he always... he always throws such a FIT." Cirrus chuckled at the term and gently reminded her of the first time Vincent had thrown a "fit." "Shut up. But now... now I can understand why he's so attached to Wutai. Do you remember Lord Yuffie?"

"Yeah, the virgin one?"

"Apparently not. Gramps told me that she was married. Guess who her husband was?"

"...you're kidding." She shook her head, mildly amused at the realization that dawned on his face. "So... so that makes Prince Akira..." She nodded again. "Wow. Holy shit. No wonder he almost killed you."

"Funny."

Cirrus leaned back in his chair and stared at her, and she returned it with one of her own. "What else did Gramps tell you? Besides that stuff about Hojo and Jenova and... what was it... eighty years ago or something?"

At that, Ruana's face fell and she looked down, unsure of what to say. _I shouldn't tell him... it's Vincent's personal life... but..._

"Ruana?"

"I'm... I'm not sure I should say."

"Is it something bad?" She nodded. "...let me guess. She died and he took the blame." She nodded again.

"How'd you guess?"

"It wasn't that hard. He seems like that type of guy." Before another awkward silence could turn into her taking another look at the plate, he replied, "...that sucks."

"Yeah..." _And he won't forget about it. He should. He should let it go and move on._ And deep inside, deep inside herself, where not even she could easily tell what she thought, she wished that he had some small spot in his own heart reserved for her.

"Ruana." He looked at her again, the seriousness again dominating all other emotions in his eyes. "Look, I know that this 'love lost' of his is tragic and romantic and all, but... just be careful, sis. Don't get suckered in by that. This isn't some fairy tale. He's dangerous, and he'll hurt you if you get too close."

"I know, Cirrus. I know."

But deep inside, in that same area that wished for his love, she also wished that it WAS a fairy tale, that she WOULD somehow reel him in and comfort him and be everything that he desired.

* * *

_22 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year  
December_

_Acquired new specimen. Prime candidate for Jenova infusion._

_Codename: Turk 01_

_- Bullet penetration more severe than initially thought. Left brachial artery punctured beneath elbow. Initial decomposition has begun. Amputation required.  
- Wound to waist region not severe. Large intestine punctured in three separate areas. Surgery required.  
- Will commence reconstruction henceforth._

* * *

_23 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year  
December_

_Amputation performed successfully. Left elbow treated in 1.00 L of 7.5M Mako solution bath. Predicted length of time of preservation: 72 hours (as of 1:17). Left arm discarded._

_Turk 01 will be closely monitored to ensure further decomposition does not occur. Will be subjected to "Jenova Regeneration Hypothesis" testing. First human to undergo experimental procedure. Tests JENOVA 002483-002, JENOVA 002483-003, JENOVA 002483-004, and JENOVA 00284-005 indicate that human regeneration is possible. Retrieved preserved limb of Gold II._

_- Will commence testing within 48 hours. Must allow sufficient time for Turk 01 to recover.  
- Jenova Project going as planned. If Jenova Regeneration Hypothesis is proven correct, alterations to Jenova Project gene therapy will be required._

* * *

_24 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year  
December_

_Mako bath effective at halting decomposition. Test is still on schedule for tomorrow._

* * *

_25 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year – Christmas Day  
December_

_Commencing experiment. Time is 13:21._

_1.00 L of 7.5M Mako bath in place. Jenova cell culture solution injected into Turk 01 in left brachial artery, 5 cm above amputation. Jenova cells injected into Gold II claw. Claw reanimated._

_Reattachment confirmed. As predicted, genetic reconfiguration along seam line is slow. Increased concentration of Mako bath to 10M._

_14:33 – Turk 01 resisting integration with new limb. Turk 01's body appears to reject Jenova infusion. Possibly related to psychological tendencies observed in Turk 01 prior to incapacitation._

_15:01 – Retrieved record of Turk 01's mental history. Psyche changes apparently caused by "an innate ability to consciously project his id and exhibit animalistic behavior." No mention of Turk training being involved._

_16:22 – Turk 01 still resisting integration with Gold II limb. However, genetic overlapping taking place along seam line. Indicates that gene restructuring simply requires more time than presumed for biochemical reactions._

_16:45 – Turk 01 placed in Mako Shower Chamber #1. Addition of periodic Mako showering may prove vital to preservation of Turk 01's body._

_- Jenova Project going as planned. Subject Carrier 01 suggested new classification for Embryo 00: "Sephiroth."  
--/--Sephiroth –"the path to God"  
- An interesting name. Will consider._

* * *

_26 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year  
December_

_No change in Turk 01's physiology. Genetic reconstruction fully covered seam line and penetrated approx. 1 cm into left arm._

_- Embryo 00 renamed "Sephiroth" as requested by Subject Carrier 01._

* * *

_27 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year  
December_

_No significant changes._

* * *

_28 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year  
December_

_No significant changes._

* * *

He flipped the pages with his nose. He flipped, flipped, and growled lightly as one errant page continued to plaster itself to his snout. Clawing at it, he sneezed and continued to search for the rest of the explanations of Vincent's past. For nearly the entire length of the book, though, it seemed that the same notes were written on each page.

* * *

_11 Day, 2 Month, 6970 Year  
February_

_No significant changes._

* * *

_12 Day, 2 Month, 6970 Year  
February_

_No significant changes._

* * *

_13 Day, 2 Month, 6970 Year  
February_

_Jenova Regeneration Hypothesis proved correct._

_- Anti-aging qualities observed in Sephiroth. Embryo has not advanced past second trimester. Will test on Turk 01._

* * *

_15 Day, 2 Month, 6970 Year  
February_

_Commencing Experiment. Time is 12:21._

_12:25 – Cells cultured from elbow region of Turk 01._

_12:35 – Mutated cells appear to undergo mitosis at irregular intervals, possibly due to Jenova cell influence. Unknown protein structure surrounding cell membranes._

_12:41 – Isolated unknown protein. Codename: UP 01._

_13:22 – UP 01 tested. Results confirm UP 01 is direct cause of cell preservation._

_- Will remove Sephiroth from Subject Carrier 01 and develop embryo in vitro.  
- Removal and isolation of Subject Carrier 01 required. Confidential information must remain confidential._

* * *

_16 Day, 2 Month, 6970 Year  
February_

_Turk 01 remains in stasis. Will require relocation to Isolation in Biological Waste Chamber._

_- Embryonic removal successful. Subject Carrier 01 no longer relevant to Jenova Project.  
- Protein inhibitor successfully created and introduced into genetic code of Sephiroth. Normal cell growth restored. Will be implemented in all future procedures.  
-Protein inhibitor not effective on Turk 01.  
-Hypotheses:  
--/--Turk 01 is adult specimen and will reject inhibitor  
--/--Turk 01 has undergone sufficient Jenova integration to reject inhibitor  
--/--More to come  
- Subject Carrier forcibly removed from premises. Fate unknown._

* * *

_17 Day, 2 Month, 6970 Year  
February_

_Turk 01 no longer relevant to Jenova Project. Experimentation over. Turk 01 removed from laboratory, placed in Biological Waste Chamber._

_Signed: Franken S. Hojo_

* * *

Nanaki yawned lazily and nudged the book closed. _Interesting... but ultimately like all other science texts._ He stretched and brought himself to his feet. Looking over at Vincent, he saw that the dark-haired man was still soundly asleep. _Ageless because of complex proteins and catalyzing agents and submicroscopic mumbo jumbo._ His brain hurt thinking about such things.

The study of physics was so much easier. At least it explained something about the Planet. Chemistry was, to him, a mineral defect in his hippocampus resulting in a net loss of interest and comprehension.

He sighed and went outside to see something other than words on paper.

* * *

**Interlude: On the Art of Marrying Cousins**

Turtle's Paradise was enjoying a quiet lull; besides the three of them, there was only one other tenant, a regular at the bar. Vincent briefly wondered how the pub managed to stay in business with the lack of customers during the day, but he quickly doused that thought; it was the only bar in all of Wutai, and it served a rather large crowd of tourists and locals. Its potent drinks were also a mighty big draw.

They sat in the middle of the pub, surrounded by the decorative nuances of Wutai's unique culture – here a lantern made of rice paper, there a long and spiraling dragon made of complex interlaced paper, here a small cashier's office separated from the rest of the restaurant by only a sliding screen door, there a rack of various weapons. In the far corner of the room was a fountain, its chiseled surfaces depicting a large tree from whose branches the water cascaded into the pool below. At the bar, the chef was swiftly but patiently rummaging through his cooking procedures, preparing okonomiyaki on a flat-top grill and draining a cup of vermicelli noodles from a boiling water bath to make pho. Godo, Yuffie, and he were sitting down by the small, homey table; the Kisaragis knelt, resting their upper bodies on the back of their feet, and he sat, cross-legged, unabashedly. Each glanced at him for a moment, but soon returned their gazes to the table as the chef took a break from his routine to bring them a jug of rice wine.

"How have you been, Vincent-san?" Godo asked, offering Vincent a small cup of the alcoholic beverage. Yuffie grumbled to the side, noting with moderate disdain that Turtle's Paradise apparently only had two cups left.

As he accepted a cup, Vincent nodded his thanks and shrugged. "Immortality takes some getting used to."

"I don't doubt it."

"Hm."

Neither spoke after that, each meditating into their cups. After a moment of oppressed silence, Yuffie swiped angrily at Vincent's cup and poured herself a glass. "Wow, Vinnie, half a year and you're still as shy, fly, and dry as ever."

Godo swiftly snatched the cup from her and downed the contents himself. Refreshed, he answered, "Vincent knows patience. You could learn a thing or two from him."

"Yeah, yeah, can it, pops."

"THIS," Godo remarked, sweeping his arm at his daughter, "is the next Empress of Wutai."

"Get your autographs now; they'll be priceless once I'm famous."

Vincent looked at the young girl inquisitively. _So young..._ "Lord Godo, you mentioned a marriage."

The elder Kisaragi nodded, pulling the wine jug away from Yuffie's deft hands. "Ah, yes..."

He waited.

Godo thought.

There was silence.

Yuffie sputtered out a breath and groaned, "Aargh, not this again..." Pushing off the table, the young girl swirled around and made for the entrance. "Well, since you're here, Vinnie, could you keep him busy for a bit? Super Awesome Ninja Yuffie needs to do some packing."

"Get back here, you runt!"

He sighed, his mind and his eyebrow twitching ever so slightly as Godo suddenly bolted and charged the girl, tackling her to the floor. The chef arrived with his bowl of pho, and he respectfully thanked the old man. A stool flew past the back of his head, and he silently questioned the chef with his eyes. Shrugging, he replied, "I charge Kisaragi-sama and Yuffie-hime extra. Your pho there? Twenty-five gil. I tell them that I put more effort into their food, and they believe me." Placing the two okonomiyaki dishes down, he continued, "That or they understand the real reason and they don't complain." He laughed once, ducking a flurry of chopsticks. "They are actually very good patrons, the royal family." That said, he made his way back to the grill, pausing as Yuffie rushed past him and carefully weaving through the projectiles that followed.

Vincent watched the oil swirl about on top of the broth. After a careful sip, he reached for a bottle of soy sauce before noticing that it had been tipped over. He swiped the jug of alcohol before it could meet the same fate and poured himself a drink. A thought tickled at the back of his mind, and he tried so hard to stop it, because it was something he would never think, something that he thought he had "grown out of," so to speak, but a fork bounced off the roof and somehow managed to stab into a piece of Godo's okonomiyaki, and he couldn't help himself. Grasping at the morsel, he chewed it a bit, downed another glass of rice wine, and sighed as the thought overtook him.

_...may as well get hammered..._

The burning drink went down without a fuss and settled into the pit of his stomach, and he felt a warm fire spread into his body. Jabbing his chopsticks into the noodles to mix around the ingredients, he filled the cup again. If he wouldn't get any answers today, he would at least get a free drink.

* * *

**Roaming Sheep in Front of the Deep and Dreamless Sleep**

He was still asleep when Ruana came up to the room. The room had an air of peace and solemnity to it, and as she stepped in, she saw the darkening sunlight cast a heartwarming glow to reflect and rest and hover over the objects of the sleeping room. A small desk lay in the corner to her left, flanked by a dark wooden dresser that beckoned to her oddly to reach into its bowels and grab a handful of its trove of orthopedic undergarments.

Vincent lay on the lush and softly padded bed, two thick wool blankets firmly erasing his body from the shoulder down; his attire was freshly returned from the laundry of one of the town's gracious residents, and the shirt and pants, black as midnight, as well as the ominous crimson cloak, lay in a neat fold on the chair next to him. A nondescript piano was set into the wall next to him, from which the chair had been procured. The piano seemed familiar to her as well, almost like a long-lost memory or some sort of artifact that that had, once upon a time, belonged to a distant relative. She was compelled to go and run her fingers along its smooth, ivory-and coal-colored keys.

Gramps sat down at the foot of the bed, his single eye like a burning ember in the soft evening twilight as it followed her. "Hi, Gramps," she said quietly, careful not to disturb the slumbering beast in the bed.

"What brings you here, Ruana?" he asked, nudging the old textbook out of his way with his nose. "It's getting late."

Ruana came and sat next to him, taking the book in her hands and passing it gently back and forth. What HAD she come here for? Looking at the sordid state Vincent was in, her concerns seemed like such a trivial matter now. Here was a man who had not only lost his wife, but who had also missed his daughter's entire life, been driven to the brink of insanity by some sort of freak from the past, and been the subject of some evil experiments that had left him ageless, to be forced into a life of constant loss and grief.

Compared to that, her confusion over a long-lost grandfather seemed... shallow. Mute. Unimportant.

"Ruana?"

She jumped at the voice, even though it barely more than nudged at her ears, its low and reverberating softness asking as comfortingly as possible.

"Oh, sorry, Gramps. I came to ask you what you knew about him."

"Vincent?"

She shook her head and tried to say his name, but it seemed to lodge itself in her throat like some sharp fish bone. All she managed was a, "N-no, 'him.'"

Gramps tilted his head in thought, then asked, "Cloud?" Her head shook up and down.

"I... I think you know the real story behind him."

"Yes, I do. But why do you want to know?"

"Well, Vincent... Vincent said some things about him that got me confused."

"Confused? Such as?"

Her hands placed the book on the ground and she began gesturing again, unsure of just what to say and how to say it.

"Well... It's like..." Her hands moved in an erratic pattern, and it was only after staring at them for a while did she realize that they themselves acted confused, as if unsure of where to begin. "Um, it's..."

"He said you were wrong about Cloud." She nodded, glad to have some sort of guide to her thoughts. Gramps had always been good at prying knowledge from their brains. "What did you think of Cloud before?"

"Well, I thought... I thought the same thing that Cirrus thought. That Dad thought. Grandfather Cloud ran out on us. He killed Grandma Tifa-" That elicited a small chuckle from Gramps, but he motioned for her to continue. "-and then he ran away and never came back."

She looked pensively at her grandfather, but he only nodded his head back and forth gently. Taking the book in her hands again, she flipped to a random page and glanced uninterestedly at the words written there – No significant changes. _Many significant changes, I'd say._ When she looked up, Gramps was still nodding gently, up and down, almost as if he were lost in a daydream, or perhaps he had fallen asleep.

"Gramps?" she questioned.

He answered, his eye not looking at her but focused on the desk in the corner, "And what did Vincent tell you?"

Ruana strove for words, wanting, for some odd reason, to not incriminate Vincent, almost as if doing so would call some sort of wrath upon the comatose gunslinger. But, eventually lost for all else, she replied, "Well... he... hmmm... he keeps saying that I should 'see with eyes unclouded by hate.'"

The last thing she would have expected was for Gramps to burst into laughter, but he did just that, his low voice rolling off his tongue in humored chortles. "What? What is it?" But he didn't answer until the laughter had subsided, and by then she was even more confused than she had been before.

Running his paws over his snout, Gramps said, "Oh... he said that, did he? Ho ho ho... Ah, I should have expected nothing less." Upon noticing her perplexed expression, he explained, "'To see with eyes unclouded by hate' is a teaching of Da Chao, one of the religious founders of Wutai. When someone sees with eyes unclouded by hate, they relieve themselves of all previous knowledge and teachings. It is his – Vincent's – description of cleansing the soul and reaching spiritual enlightenment. In Wutainese it is called 'hundun.'"

"...okay... So... What, does he want me to become a nun?"

Gramps chuckled lightly. "No, what he means is that you... hmm, maybe I'm not the best one to tell you this... What he means is that you must first... free yourself from your past beliefs. He thinks that's the only for you to understand him."

Ruana felt a scathing derisiveness well up in her, and she suddenly felt a deep anger at the prone gunslinger gently sleeping in the bed. _Who the hell is he to act so high and mighty!? Don't I have a right to know what my own grandparents did!?_ It wasn't fair. It was not fair that she should play some... some STUPID old game of morality! Did he not think that this was an important matter to her!?

Her lips quivered with the intense rage and her sense of betrayal, and, almost afraid of what bitterness would escape her lips if she spoke too loudly, she whispered, "W-well... what do YOU think, Gramps? I mean, you know just as much about Cloud as he does, right?"

"I agree wholeheartedly."

It took her a moment to let the words sink in. When they did, though, she looked at her grandfather incredulously. "What?" she nearly hissed.

"Don't use that tone with me!" he countered icily, his verbal abuse like a slap to her face. The bitterness and hatred was quickly washed over by shame. "Ruana, I was foolish not to tell you, or your father, the truth about your grandfather. All these years, I have lived with the assumption that the past didn't matter, that it should be left to bury itself and leave the living in peace. But I was wrong.

"When I first took your father and your uncle under my care, I was so worried about their safety and their health that I never told them the truth about their father. I figured that it was easier for them to live thinking that their father was a vagrant murderer than to be told that their father was a good man and be even more confused than before. They were only kids at the time, Ruana – children, barely past their infancy. It would have been too much of a burden on them. And they have grown up knowing only a tarnished legacy, a failed family name. I realize now that that was wrong."

He sighed and looked at her. "I felt the same way, once upon a time. I thought that my mother was the greatest warrior in all of Cosmo Canyon, and my father... well, I refused to speak his name. I thought he was a coward and a weakling. I made it my life's mission to be everything that he wasn't: proud, powerful, swift, and courageous.

"For... forty years, ever since I was a young cub, I believed this. And when you believe something for so long, it takes more than a simple talk to change your mind.

"For me, the change happened some.. .fifty-six years ago. Just before I met Vincent. My own grandfather led me through the sealed depths of Cosmo Canyon, and as I went through its bowels, fending off the ghosts and demons of the Gi tribe, I felt doubt consume me. The undead souls of the Gi came at us in waves, hundreds and hundreds more behind them. And every time I dispatched one, I wondered about who had defeated it in life. Who had gone through those burning and poisonous caverns and killed each and every single one of them... And I wondered why these spirits bore such great hatred at me, and also why my grandfather didn't say anything, didn't tell me anything even at the risk of his own life.

"When we finally reached the end, before my grandfather even led us into that canyon valley, before I saw my father's petrified form standing valiantly above the entrance, I understood WHY he took us through the treacherous cave system. I understood that someone had gone through these caves before me, alone and scared for his life, but also strong and courageous and proud. If I had not seen and realized just WHAT my father had done to save the canyon... to save me... I would never have believed anything my grandfather told me. I would have stubbornly refused to accept the truth.

"That is why I agree with him, Ruana. I made the mistake of not telling you from the start, but now that the truth stands tantalizingly close at hand, I must ask that you be patient with him. With me. There will come a time, hopefully soon, when you will 'see with eyes unclouded by hate.' It is not a conscious choice, Ruana. You will be ready in due time, and I'm sure that Vincent will know when that time is."

Ruana took in his tale in silence, an awe of sorts enveloping her and causing her words to jumble in her throat. It was such a sad story, in a way... but she felt so touched by it, so moved by its message of redemption and heritage and history.

When Gramps ordered her to go to sleep, she followed it without protest, and when she fell onto the bed, there was a calm, tranquil, and almost... _slow_ feeling that flowed from her heart to her head and back to her heart. She would have to be patient... For some reason, despite all her objections against it, despite all her intense yearning to learn the truth and learn it NOW, she felt... soothed by the patience.

She slept easily that night, and she found her dreams free of worry, instead focusing on those frustratingly thick blankets being tossed off to reveal all of Vincent's magnificent body to her.

* * *

The room smelled like homegrown lilac and cherries. He felt the coolness of the room softly press against his face, and he tilted his head ever so slightly in either direction, to get a bearing. He was in a bedroom, that much was obvious, and there was a well-furnished piano to the right of his bed; on his left was the wall, but he could feel the comforting cold of the morning radiating from it.

As feeling slowly began to return to the rest of his waking body, he reached a hand up to pull the blankets off-

"Ah!" he winced quietly, feeling the sharp pain set fire to his right shoulder and burn down his back. The pain brought with it the memories of the cavern, and he breathed out loudly, staring dully up at the ceiling. _That's right,_ he remarked. _That's what happened..._Grunting with some effort, Vincent tried his other shoulder; when he felt another twinge of pain, he stopped altogether and reduced himself to gazing up at the ceiling with his thoughts in his head. _"The tomb of your second life..." So you're still alive, Lucrecia..._

"I have this peculiar sense of déjà vu," Nanaki interrupted from next to the bed, and he tilted his head to see the canine rise up to the bed and stretch, yawning loudly as he did so. "Are you alright?"

He nodded as best he could. "...I dreamt about Yuffie," he muttered, his eyes roaming along the monotonous cream-colored ceiling. "It was in the... the half-sleep before I woke up. When you aren't sure if you're asleep or awake. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Mm-hmm."

"It was..." He laughed lightly. "...I can't remember." Try as he might, he couldn't bring back those early memories, the pictures and sensations falling like sand through his mind's eye. Looking on it, though, he felt... he felt a contentedness and a sense of completion that he hadn't felt in such a long time. "It was a happy dream, though. A good one."

"You sound surprised. Have you had many of those?"

He looked at Nanaki confusedly, like his old friend hadn't been there until just then. _Surprised? Was I..._ As he thought about it, he realized that he HAD sounded surprised, and he replied, "No. No, I suppose not."

Having said that, though, he felt the happiness, the contentedness and feeling of safety, slip away with the rest of those grainy memories, and he was left feeling only cold and half-empty. It was startling not because he didn't know about it, but because for such a brief moment, he had just gotten used to the calm. He felt the irises crystallize, becoming harder and colder than they had been when she had been there. Not even Lucrecia had broken his façade like she had.

"...Lucrecia?" he whispered to Nanaki.

"Vanished."

"And the Death Penalty?"

"Gone with her." He waited a moment, letting the news sink in. "Sorry," Nanaki apologized.

He nodded but continued his silence a moment longer. "...No... it's fine. It was never mine to begin with."

Nanaki came and propped his front paws on the bed, causing it to sink a little; Vincent felt a twinge of pain in his shoulders, but he did his best to ignore it. "And what about Chaos?"

Vincent frowned, his brow furrowing as the twinge in his back brought back the memory of those agonizingly painful minutes. When Jenova had seized him, he had felt... _Stretched. Pulled._

_...Split._

"...I don't know."

"What do you mean? What happened in there, Vincent?"

"It was... I... I don't know," he managed, the pain in his shoulders flaring up again as he remembered the cavern... the wings ripping through his marrow... tearing his muscles free... slicing through his skin...

He shut his eyes against the visions. His left hand ached for some reason, and he yearned to massage it, but the pain in his shoulder blades was so intense.

"You don't know? Try, Vincent. Try to remember."

He shook his head as the pain in both his arm and his shoulders dove sharply, causing him to clench his claw tightly. Grimacing, he didn't answer Nanaki, but he did manage a stiff shake of the head. _There was... and there was... they were... they were... clashing..._

Those thoughts triggered a spasm to take him, and he lurched upward, clenching his claw tightly with his right hand and straining his back against something, something that was pulsing to tear through them again, something chaotic.

"Argh!" There was blinding pain, such blinding pain, pain that split his head in two, split his vision, and it even seemed to split his entire body in two. He felt the claw in his hand and it felt like something not his own, and at the same time he felt his fingers wrap around his claw and they felt unnaturally warm and feverish. When he dared to look, his vision was tinted both a hazy purple and a misty red, both at the same time and both differently, so different that he couldn't even tell who he was anymore.

"Vincent!" Nanaki barked, and the command seemed to knock into him with the force of a sledgehammer; within an instant, he had unclenched his fist and fallen back to the mattress, groaning as a new wave of pain rocked through his shoulders.

He panted, clenching his eyes against the pain until it could subside, and then he turned his head to look seriously at Nanaki.

"There was Jenova... And there was Chaos..." He winced, gritting his teeth, then continued, "They were... clashing. Inside my head... It felt like... like they were pulling on me... like my mind... was being split in two... I can't describe it any other way."

Nanaki, for his part, looked questioningly dubious. "You said... 'pulling?'" He nodded. Nanaki seemed to mull over those words.

The canine beast lifted off the bed and paced throughout the room, clearly agitated or worried. Finally, after several minutes, he said, "Jenova said... 'the tomb of your second life.' Is that where I think it is?"

Vincent heard the phrase, and suddenly he felt the dream coming back, the wonderful dream with Yuffie. She had said something to him in his dream. Yes, they had been talking about that very same phrase! What had they said...?

"...It's... It's..." he tried, concentrating as hard as he could on that picture of him and her in the depths of his mind. A lake... Steps... An altar... Her death... ALL their deaths... It was...

"Y... Yes, Nanaki." He and Nanaki locked eyes, and in it they both saw the other's abject horror and absolute weariness and wholehearted despair. _Not again,_ those eyes said to each other. _Not there again._

"The City of the Ancients."

They both said it. They both felt tears rising. They both fought them down.

But inside, they both felt their hearts breaking again.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Lucrecia's Cavern END**

A/N: I wasn't too pleased with Red's speech to Ruana, but I'll let you decide for yourselves. And I'll admit, Hojo's notes were a shameless act on my part to a) show Vincent's arm as "alive," meaning it's neither a glove nor a mechanical prosthetic; b) say that, in my book, Vincent DID get injected with Jenova cells – like a baseball player and steroids; and c) offer some sort of pseudoscientific explanation for why Vincent's immortal and all others aren't.

**Notes:**

"If you don't know your family's history... you are a leaf that doesn't know it is part of a tree." – attributed to author Michael Crichton, best known for writing _Jurassic Park_.

"...there aren't any cicadas in spring." – Mooched without shame off of _Rurouni Kenshin_. This also creates a continuity error – if it's April in the first chapter, by now it should be just about midsummer. Oh, well. I blame global warming.

"Voices" – Many readers will know (or should, at any rate) that this song comes from _Macross Plus_, arguably one of the greatest achievements in anime storytelling.

Sephiroth – I intended to have his name be an acronym for "SEed of PHIlosophy and Instrument of ROyal truTH." That was so lame, though.

Franken S. Hojo – Named after a famous fictional scientist. Really famous. You should know him.

"The study of physics was so much easier." – One of the great truths of the world. Funnily enough, I wrote this scene when I should've been preparing for a chemistry exam. Coincidence? I think not.

Okonomiyaki – Often described as "Japanese pizza" or "Japanese pancake," okonomiyaki is, in general, a dish made of batter and additional ingredients that is pan-fried (like a pancake) and topped with some sort of sauce (usually okonomiyaki sauce, but it certainly isn't restricted to just that). It literally translates to "cook what you want." Sorta like a choose-your-own-adventure pizza.

Pho – A dish native to southeastern Asia (Vietnam in particular). In Vietnamese, it's pronounced "phuh?" like you're asking a question (like "What the phuh?"); in Hmong, it's pronounced "phu," with the "u" sounding like "fur," "Kirk," "urk," etc., like you're answering a question. It's a dish made with thin rice noodles in a beef broth, with various ingredients thrown in.

Rice wine – Some instantly think that it refers to sake, a common Japanese beverage, but there are versions of rice wine all over the world (most of which originate, not coincidentally, from the Asian continent).

"Roaming sheep ... dreamless sleep" – From "Roaming Sheep," _Final Fantasy: 1987-1994_

"...trove of orthopedic underwear. ... A nondescript piano was set into the wall..." - Those who have played the game will understand whose house and room Vincent is occupying.

Hundun – Not Japanese, but a Chinese term for the start of the universe, the state of the world before the beginning. It is often translated as "Chaos," and with good reason – in Daoism, hundun is the state from which everything eventually forms. The taiji (the yin-yang or "Great Ultimate") is the form of energy/world/life that forms immediately at the beginning, when things start to be separate and definite. (The martial art Taijiquan or "Tai Chi" is derived from this teaching.) The description of hundun within this story is extremely liberal.


	13. Family Ties, part C

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

The empty room said it all.

Nothing had been touched since last night, nothing save for the dresser and the small chest atop it. Minako's fists clenched and unclenched sporadically as she wavered from feeling betrayed to remembering social etiquette. A servant girl timidly queried for something, but she nearly slapped her in her outraged order to leave her be.

_How could he... where is he!?_

Something red and venomous burned behind her eyes, causing her face to contort into a malcontent, irate expression. Stomping into the room, she reached down and tore one of the tatami mats out of the ground, carelessly flinging it across the room. Snarling as the betrayal and hurt and hatred overwhelmed her sense of duty. _It's all his fault! That... DAMN fool!_ As she turned around and around, observing the room, a flicker of red cape and golden claw teased at her peripheral vision and she swung in that direction, toppling Akira's dresser. _ALWAYS!_ she hissed to herself, seeing her bastard father's face sleeping in the futon and turning on it instantly, making as if to strangle the blankets covering it, almost snarling as her hands clawed at the cottony fabric. The linens tore apart and their contents bled out, and the next thing she saw was her son, as unmistakably similar to her father as the dew drop to the rain. It was always the men in her life...

When she came to, Akira's room lay in shambles, the flooring completely destroyed, and Katakai stood in the doorway, waiting and observing patiently. She turned on him, her fists clenched again. "Where is he!?" she demanded, gripping him by his kimono collar. "I know you know, Katakai! Where did he go!?"

Her husband calmly and lovingly placed his hands on hers, and as he looked at her with all the love in the world, she felt the bitter hatred harder and harder to maintain. Stilling her hands for a moment, he kissed her knuckles before slowly disengaging them.

Minako's resolve slowly dissolved, and her hatred gave way to abuse and despair and loneliness, as he removed her grip. Her hands began to shudder as they weakly pounded against his chest; she was filled now only with infinite sadness, like the curse that had ever ruled her life was now rearing its godforsaken head once again.

"He did it again..." she said miserably, her hands weak against his chest. "They both did it... Always, they do it...Why, Katakai? Why...?" She sniffled before pushing away from him, and she felt so bare right then, so unnaturally naked that, even with her arms to hide her shame and sadness, the whole world could see what she was truly like. "Otosan, Ayami-chan, Akira... why do they always leave me, Katakai?" A thought struck her, and she looked up desperately, and she didn't care that he could see it in her eyes, he could see everything anyways, so why did it matter now, she held out shaking, half-crazed hands and grasped his big, strong shoulders almost plaintively, daintily, like he was a fine glass that would shatter under the slightest touch. "Y-you..." she began, "...please tell me you won't leave me, Katakai... Please, I couldn't bear it... but oh, I know you will, all of you will, every man in my life has already, and even..."

She went on and on, sputtering and dribbling on as tears fell from her face. Then she felt Katakai's strong, assured fingers lace with hers, and he was rocking her gently, so much like a father would his child, like the father she never had. "Hush, Minako, hush," she heard him whisper gently, feeling the soft press of his lips to her hair, brittle and graying as it was. "Hush, it will be for the best. One allowed Akira to leave last night. He could not be caged forever, Minako, as both you and one discussed before." She nodded resignedly; they had spoken about it at length before, and she had always felt so guilt-ridden about the matter, but it had been so frightening, such an imposing prospect to give him freedom. Whenever he had suggested that he pay a diplomatic visit to one of the other countries, and she had always known what reasons had necessitated those requests – she WAS his mother, after all – she had always responded by, inside, panicking and fighting an irrational and unknown fear. Now she knew what that fear had been.

"Remember, the seed grows like the tree from which it came, and it will bear the same fruit. Akira is not lost to you forever: no matter where he goes, take comfort in the knowledge that he WILL return, as all things do. Your father, Minako, even he returned to you. Be still. Let your son fly like he so desperately wishes, and he will love you more for that than if you were to give him a thousand kingdoms."

"Um... please forgive me, Minako-dono." She gasped in shock as the timid voice suddenly queried to her again, and she dislodged herself from Katakai's warm embrace to regard the same servant who she had nearly struck just a few minutes earlier. Her mask of formality, as hard as it had been to shatter earlier, slipped on like a summer kimono; Minako gave the young girl the same level glance she gave everyone save for her husband and son.

"Mimi-chan. Please, please excuse me. I believe I frightened you earlier. I apologize deeply."

The young girl blushed and instantly dropped to her knees. On the hardwood floor, it must have hurt. "Y-y-you are too generous, Minako-dono! I-I-I-I should have known better than to disturb you!"

Then, with practiced ease, she did her best to ignore Katakai's aggravatingly cheerful presence and said to the bowing girl, "Very well. What is it, then?"

"Uh, uh, uh, oh yes! Your guests from Shinsei Industries are waiting in the main hall."

Minako nodded and wiped nonchalantly at the remaining tears on her face. "Yes, of course. Tell them that I will be down shortly."

"I will, Minako-dono. Um... I hope Your Majesty doesn't mind my saying, but..." When she didn't say anything, the girl continued, "...Well, I hope Your Majesty feels better, that's all."

"You concern is duly noted. Now go."

"Y-yes, Minako-dono."

When she left, Minako turned to her husband. The man looked at her with that same ineffable calmness, and she almost wanted to slap it off his face. Almost. "Katakai," she said, her voice once again all business, "thank you for your words. But the next time you do something like this without first talking it over with me, I will make sure your life becomes a living hell."

As she turned down the hall, she could almost FEEL him smiling at her as he answered, "Of course, Minako. Never again."

He'd used that line before. And, just like then, it worked this time, too.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Thirteen: Family Ties, part C

"_We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies."  
- Shirley Temple,_ Womenfolks: Growing Up Down South

* * *

The food was great, but there was something in the atmosphere that made him feel uneasy. Grandma Shera's house had never smelled like this before, so what was the issue? Nuboko wondered about that before sighing and tossing his fork on the plate. It struck noisily on the shiny china, and each clang seemed to pierce his head with a grating screech.

Never had he felt so miserable before. Even the warmest and most joyful things in life – Grandma Shera's cooking, for example – no longer carried that same warmth and joy. They felt… weighed down, as if the memories of his deceased shipmates were still with him, haunting him and whispering of his betrayal. All logic told him that it wasn't his fault, that he had no way of knowing that they had been thrown off the ship, but...

But to think that they had been left alone, in that endless blue and black, with that demon of the deep... How long had they survived, frightened to death, consumed with the fear of being ripped apart by some kraken or shark or beast?

His breath hitched in his throat, and he found that he could hardly breath anymore, tears pouring unbridled through his closed eyelids. He lurched forward in his chair and held his head in his hands, sobbing and breathing in short, erratic bursts, and he knew he had to stop, he had to stop hyperventilating or he would faint and he probably wouldn't wake up, but the thought and the picture of them flailing in the infinitely deep ocean waters, shouting and screaming for him to come back and get them, only to be left with the certainty of death, threw his mind into a mourning fervor that consumed him.

_If only he hadn't been there,_ he thought with a sickening abhorrence. _If only he hadn't showed up... This all started because of that god DAMN gunman! It's all his fault... If it wasn't for him, Momma... Poppa... you two would still be alive..._

"Momma..." he whispered between choking breaths, "...Papa... Oh-oh god... h-help me... Momma...!" Something shook in the background and caused his fork to grate again on the china plate, and it sounded to his ears like the death wails of his four comrades, piercing his senses with their dead and haunted cries. Desperate to keep sane, he swiped angrily at the plate and it crashed loudly into the wall, eliciting a surprised gasp from someone in the room.

Whirling to the source of the voice, Nuboko, surprised, found his grandmother standing in the doorway to her bedroom, looking at him with a pained and pensive face. "Nuboko..." she whispered gently, making her way to the table with her arms outstretched. "Nuboko, Nuboko, come here," she said, reaching the edge of the table and embracing his head in that instantly calming, relaxing way that all grandmothers could. "Nuboko, tell me what's wrong," she comforted as she rocked him back and forth, and he felt his breathing slow and his tears vanish as she did so.

He reached up after a moment and gently removed himself from her grip, assuring that he was okay. "I... I lost a lot of good men, Grandma," he explained. "I lost a lot of them out there, and... and I feel... I just feel so rotten inside, Grandma. It's like... I could've done something. I could've gone back and gotten them, but... but I... he..."

"Shhh, shhh." She patted his head and went to the kitchen. "Stay right there, Nuboko. I'll fix us up some tea."

He shook his head against her offer. "No, no thanks, Grandma. I-I think I'm okay now."

"Nonsense, honey. I'll just be a moment, then we can talk about it."

He got up from the table and headed for the door. It was late out, but it was the only place he wanted to be right now. "That's fine, Grandma. I think I'll just go and get some fresh air."

On his way out, Grandma Shera faced him and said, "Going to fix up the Sword?" to which he nodded. Then she chuckled and said, "You really do follow your family, Nuboko. Your grandfather would always tinker with his Highwind whenever he needed to relax, and your father would always tinker with his Gandiva whenever HE needed to relax."

Nuboko nodded in passing and bid a quick adieu before heading out to the docks. But as the lurid darkness of the night fell on him, he once again felt their feathery, ghostly fingers pulling at the hairs on his arms, and he turned his leisurely walk into a light jog. He didn't want to have to think about them.

* * *

Akira had arrived in Rocket Town only a few hours earlier, and as he walked through the night air to the boat where he'd stowed his small supply of belongings, he came across a figure in the distance, silently observing what looked like the carcass of a whale or some such thing – a mammoth portion of its aft looked to have been sheered clean off, and what was left was riddled with harsh slashes and deep grooves.

As he silently made his way to his small dinghy, he glanced up again and noticed that the man hadn't moved an inch; curious, Akira molded himself to the shadows and crept in for a closer look. He calmed his breath as he inched closer and closer, and the soft ambient light in his eyes faded away, making him as much of the inky shadow as water was the sea.

_Nuboko-san..._ he noted in surprise. _What is he doing here at this time of night?_ He stood behind the sailor, and he could see the tension that locked the man's shoulders in a tight, agitated rigidity. _Is that his Sword?_ he wondered glumly, looking at the decapitated ship just down the hill, tethered to the dock.

Then Nuboko surprised him by doing something wholly unexpected: he bellowed, long and loud and ferocious, and snared some stones from the earth and hurled them angrily into the lapping sea.

"AAAHH! WHAT THE **FUCK** DO YOU WANT FROM ME!? WHY THE **FUCK**!? WHY THE **FUCK** DID YOU TAKE THEM, YOU SON OF A **BITCH**! **AAAGH!**" The outburst lasted only for a brief half a minute, but it stunned Akira nonetheless. He'd never liked the man in front of him – in fact, they each did as much as possible to avoid each other – but to see him like this, to see him so completely pained, was a shock to his system. Despite himself, Akira wondered just what had happened to him to derail him so.

The sound of sobbing brought him back from his inner thoughts. Nuboko fell down, clasping his head in his hands as his shoulders heaved up and down. The sailor continued to fling his surroundings out into the waters, cursing and sobbing and swearing all the while.

_...I shouldn't be here._

The thought struck him and he quietly withdrew from the scene; even if the man was his enemy, he deserved his privacy to mourn whatever it was he was mourning.

* * *

**Interlude: Banishment, Heads Side**

"There is nothing to discuss here." The Hikama man looked at him, prissy and elegant and downright disgusting in his embellished robes and expensive embroidery. The fuck would've been begging for scraps by now if he hadn't been lucky enough to have a son that was smart enough to marry into the ruling family. He wanted to slap him for pulling that high and mighty shit.

"Your Honored Hikama, you-"

"Stay your tongue, maggot!" he bellowed, slamming his hand on the wooden table. It was probably hurting like a bitch right then. "You have no authority here!" The other prissy bastards around the room nodded their assent. All from the Hikama clan, the lot of them.

"But I do, Hikama-sama, and I WILL speak," Ayami replied from his left, rising to her feet. The action was not lost on them, or on him. "Am I not too a Kisaragi!? How DARE you presume-"

There was a flash of movement, and then she fell back, and the smug smirk of the Hikama official stood over her, his palm outstretched and ready to strike another blow. He snarled and pounced on the pompous asshole, but two katana streaked down and to the base of his throat, and he forced himself to stay steady. "And YOU, WOMAN, have no voice here! You, who disgraced your family by marrying an outsider!"

"Did not Yuffie-dono marry an outsider!?" she retorted, fumbling back to her feet. "How is Cid any different from Vincent-dono!?" Turning to the two guards, she hissed, "Sheath your weapons now, or I WILL kill you, royalty or not!"

"Are you BLIND, woman!?" he mocked, laughing shrilly and self-righteously. The others in the room followed suit, like babies imitating their older siblings. "YES, Yuffie-dono married outside her kind, and LOOK at what happened! Death! Shame upon her family name! And it was only through the grace of the Hikama clan that her daughter was able to return to-"

Ayami, that beautiful goddess of war that she was, leapt forward and punched – no feeble slap; he always liked that about her – the puke-inducing Hikama straight onto the tatami mat, glowering over him like some sort of banshee. "Speak ill of Yuffie-dono again and I SWEAR those will be your last words, you disgusting mongrel!" And again she turned on the two guards holding him at their mercy, and she said, with the icy promise of death, "Unhand him." They obliged immediately, and he stood by her.

"Empress Kisaragi," he said, beseeching the woman in the second story balcony. Her young presence and that of her husband was covered in shadows, but he stared up defiantly anyway. It was rude, it was uncouth, it was so disrespectful in this Wutainese culture, but he didn't care in the slightest. "You are the Empress and ruler, not these fucking Hikama idiots! I'm asking you! Please! You can't let them do this!"

Whatever hope Cid had been fostering, whatever notions of comfort to be found in the Empress's intuition he saw were quickly squashed when the young queen rose and came to the balcony, her face a cold, hard mask of hatred and loyalty and stubbornness. "Cid Highwind the Second, you have no say here." She turned her wrath on his Ayami, and his heart fell at the look on his fiancée's face. "Ayami, anyone foolish enough to marry outside royalty will only suffer the same fate as my mother. Will you not reconsider?"

"No," he heard her say, her voice flat and defeated. Tears started to fall down her cheeks, and he felt tears of his own coming. "Mina-chan, please-"

"Then you are cruel to your children as my mother was to me. You are no longer a Kisaragi. Get out of my sight."

* * *

**Revitalization by Faith**

The mountain air was doing wonders to help Cirrus relax, even if the town felt more drab and depressed because of it. He'd just returned from a jog through the safer paths of the Nibel Mountains, and as he gathered himself beneath the small well in the morning courtyard, his silver-glinted hair hanging in sweaty locks against his forehead, Cirrus closed his eyes and began to slow his breathing.

"O Sephiroth, my Savior..." he whispered under his breath, performing the salute of the Sephira. "Bestow upon me the Strength and Humility, and may you find sustenance from the fruit of my labor. My Brother, my King, Sephiroth." Having said that, Cirrus brought his left foot forward, set it down after half a pace, and turned his right a quarter turn to the side, bending lightly at the knees. His arms extended of their own accord, the left outstretched, elbow tucked in, fingers loosely extended, and the right coming to rest just level to his navel, fingers also loosely extended to fend off any attacks to the lower body. It was a stance he'd learned long ago from his sister, and he found that meditating with it suited him much more than sitting on his butt with his legs crossed.

As he breathed, he began to ease the muscles of his body, and once he saw only the black and the indistinct purples, blues, and dotted whites of the sleeping world, he began to close his senses: he no longer saw either black or color, the earth beneath him gave way to emptiness and the sweat on his arms left neither cold nor warmth and the wind became imperceptible against his skin, the droning of the morning – from birds to humans, machines to tree bark, from quiet to roaring – escaped his consciousness, and the thin fragrances that mingled in this town – oil and flowers and wood and paint and dust and the seeds of trees – bled away.

There was only... him. An energy radiated from within him, and he sought it, delving into it like one would dip a pail into a well. As Cirrus traveled the endless expanses inside his body, he continued to search for the point, the penultimate and infinitesimal of all things, the ineffable that was both at the core of and encompassing all the world.

Years and moments passed like grains of rice to him. Then there was no longer earth, or the sky or stars, there was only an instant... nothing. Beyond nothing. A hum of "Om..." that began and ended at the same time... and Sephiroth.

Sense returned gradually to him. First it was like waking from a long slumber, a dazed and muffled mishmash of everything. Then, as his sense of touch returned, the burning sensation in his right leg seemed to slap him with a proverbial mallet to the face, and he leaned forward to alleviate the pain. Glancing around him confusedly, like a man just returned from a long voyage, Cirrus saw the courtyard bustling with the morning rush of people. Many had gathered to watch his meditations, and once his trance subsided, they looked away embarrassedly and continued on their way.

Taking in one last deep breath, Cirrus lowered his stance and went to his knees, facing directly to the east. He recited:

"Frail and weak in the light of your eyes,  
I bow to you."

He bowed once.

"Physical and spiritual devotion in your eyes,  
I bow to you."

He bowed again.

"Almighty Sephiroth, a servant for your eyes,  
I bow to you."

He bowed one last time and got up. As he returned to the inn, he tried to recollect the sense of pure enlightenment, though he knew that it was an empty endeavor. Still, it filled Cirrus with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and peace, and he couldn't help but think, as he looked back at the house across the courtyard, that there was no way he had chosen the wrong path in life.

_Vincent must be mistaken. The path of Sephiroth IS the true path._

* * *

**Interlude: Banishment, Tails Side**

"There is nothing to discuss here." She watched on emotionlessly as the Hikama official that had been appointed to the royal court berated Ayami down below. She was surrounded on all sides by the Hikama clan – her husband on her right, and a bevy of guards behind her and to her left. In fact, the only other Kisaragi was being tried down below. She felt a cynical humor in that.

"Your Honored Hikama, you-"

"Stay your tongue, maggot! You have no authority here!" he bellowed, and the sound of his hand slapping on the polished wood table made her smile. The man was a sniveling, backstabbing, and self-righteous disgrace of royalty, but he was powerful in his oratory and his drama.

Ayami rose from her seat, causing an uproarious gasp to flow through the tradition-minded Hikama clan like a wave of treason. "But I do, Hikama-sama, and I WILL speak," she replied evenly and forcefully, and as Minako looked over the proceedings, their eyes met for the briefest of moments, before she turned her gaze elsewhere.

"Minako, one does not think you need to suffer through this. Go. One will take care of it," her husband whispered from his throne next to her. She nodded, smiling gratefully to show her appreciation, but as she turned to leave, the sudden and stupefying ring of a palm on a cheek forced her eyes back to the scene below.

"And YOU, WOMAN, have no voice here! You, who disgraced your family by marrying an outsider!"

Hot temptation flooded her fingers, and she gripped the railing to relieve the tension, to keep herself from jumping down there herself and beheading the man. She would get rid of him immediately. His arrogance had been tolerable until now, but she would have no more of it.

Down below, Ayami retorted like any good Kisaragi would, screaming, "Did not Yuffie-dono marry an outsider!? How is Cid any different from Vincent-dono!?"

Her heart twisted inside her chest, as if the names of her parents were like pythons wringing the life out of it. ...y_ou are foolish enough to believe he won't leave you. Oh, youth... What I wouldn't give to be fifteen again._

"Are you BLIND, woman!?" A high-pitched, obscene scoff arose from him, and joining it were the others in the court. Sitting back down, she made a note to get rid of all of them.

Katakai's hand enveloped her own, causing her to start in surprise. He looked at her with a calm affection, squeezing her hand gently – she only now realized how stressed those fingers were – and replying, "Be strong, Minako. You always have one with you."

The squabble from below was suddenly cut short as something tumbled back down, and when she looked down, she noticed (with no small amount of pleasure) that the head judge had been knocked flat onto the tatami mat, Ayami glowering above him like some sort of dark banshee. "A rebel to the end, you are," she said with a slight smirk, even though she also knew that Ayami's fate was now sealed; she would not, could not, stand for such misconduct in a courtroom.

"Empress Kisaragi," Cid said from down below, his arms flailing wildly and emotionally, as if he were fighting against the very demons of hell. _If it were not for my cousin at your side, you would have been blinded for such disrespectful actions. _"You are the Empress and ruler, not these fucking Hikama idiots!" he shouted, first pointing to her, then sweeping his hand to include all the other Hikama mutts. "I'm asking you!" he begged. "Please! You can't let them do this!"

_I can't?_ she mimicked icily, sardonically. _I can't, Mr. Highwind? You will eat your words._ She came to the balcony, carefully arranging her face into a cold, hard mask of hatred and loyalty and stubbornness. "Cid Highwind the Second," she began, her voice biting and sharp, "you have no say here." Turning her gaze to Ayami, her façade nearly broke as she saw the teen's face go stricken with horror and desperation. Nearly. "Ayami, anyone foolish enough to marry outside royalty will only suffer the same fate as my mother." With a bit of hope and desperation of her own, she added, "Will you not reconsider?"

The moment before Ayami spoke stretched into an infinity, a gap forever splitting the two, and she realized then that she would never see her beloved cousin, her sister by love and affection, ever again.

"No," Ayami said. The defeat in her tone brought tears to Minako's eyes, and she was suddenly furious with the stupid girl. _Why do you do this!?_ she wanted to scream at her. _Why are you leaving me, too!?_ Under the cover of the shade, she felt the tears fall down her cheeks, mirroring those on her dear cousin's face. "Mina-chan, please-" the girl begged one final time, but she'd had enough.

"Then you are cruel to your children as my mother was to me," she said evenly, though she knew that there had been a slip or two of emotion, of the pain that poured from her as easily as the tears. "You are no longer a Kisaragi." Her heart broke, but she steeled herself; she would do this deed, and then she would cry no more.

"Get out of my sight."

* * *

**Banishment, the Coin of No Worth**

It had been thirty-six years. When she thought about it like that, she wondered just where the time had gone. The time after her father's death, and the subsequent end of her childhood, to now seemed like a blur most of the times, and though she had moved on and found a husband and had a child and became a grandmother, she still felt... young. Like a ten-year old girl. Just beginning to find out the truths of the world.

Staring out into the rich coastal paradise of Costa del Sol, the old woman lamented over the lost adventures of her old days. She had never been a part of them herself, but the stories her father had told her had caused her to dream of epic escapades, of world-crossing adventures with the fate of the world on her shoulders. When Meteor had descended on her, and when both Holy and the Lifestream had converged to stop the suffering, she had realized the true meaning behind her father's mission, his dangerous AVALANCHE work. In the aftermath, amidst all the destruction and chaos and panic, she had felt a calm that she had later realized had been partly the work of Aeris the flower girl, but she had also been in such awe of her father that she had barely had time to worry about the danger she had been in.

Perhaps it wasn't COMPLETELY accurate to call him her father – they had visited her real father's grave in the Corel desert prison just shortly before he died, as his sort of parting gift or something – but to her, he was the only father she'd ever known. Her memories of "Uncle" Dyne had been faint then, and they were almost nonexistent now, but she still thought of him every now and then, how different things might've been for him had things turned out just a bit differently. But what was lost was lost. To her, she had one father, and he had died of black lung disease back in 7016.

So it was only fitting that she should go see him now. Now, after all these years of letting her son have it easy. The last time she'd visited his grave had been before her grandson was born, and the little tyke was now nearing school age. She'd love to see Nanaki as well, and Zack and his kids.

She wondered if Cirrus had gotten himself a nice girlfriend yet. And, on the tail of that, the same thought occurred to her regarding Ruana. The two were inseparable, and she doubted that anyone could get close to one without the other first approving.

But mostly she wanted to see her father again. It had been such a long time, and thirty-six years seemed as good an excuse as any to go and see him again.

Marlene cradled her grandson and continued rocking her chair.

Yes, it would be good to visit him again.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Family Ties, part C END**

A/N: This chapter arose more or less because I wanted to slow down the pace again (I noticed that the last couple of chapters really sped things along) and focus on someone besides Vincent, Red XIII, and the twins. It also gave me another chance to really bring my attention back to issues of family, or of lineage and family legacy and whatnot. It's a theme that I hope will become one of the driving forces of the story.

While writing this chapter, and while going back to edit my previous ones (which I'll be uploading sooner or later), I realized that my writing style is largely influenced by the subject material I'm reading at the time of writing. For instance, this chapter, as well as the last one, is heavily influenced by Asian religions (Daoism) and cultures (Okonomiyaki, Pho, etc.). I might make a note of what stories I read during which chapters I wrote in my edits.

I also noticed that my scenes seem, to me, to be really... inadequate. They seem like one-shots. They seem to contain their own stories within themselves, and they don't translate well into the big scheme of things. I think I'll have to work on that a bit more. Please bear with me.

I'd also like to thank (and boy, isn't this A/N getting long) all the readers that've been keeping this story alive. Of the recent bunch, T. Costa and Omega Gilgamesh especially deserve some thanks. T. Costa thought enough of this story to not only add it to her Favorites, but also to link directly to it on her bio page. Her stories are also extremely good. As in really good. Omega Gilgamesh deserves similar praise because his _Final Fantasy XIV_ is an amazingly epic work itself. I suggest people go and read their stories. They deserve much more recognition than they currently get.

**Notes:**

Shinsei Industries – A fictional aircraft manufacturer in the _Macross _universe, and the company that designed the YF-19 Alpha One AVF in _Macross Plus_ (which is just about the sexiest mecha design in the world).

Shirley Abbot – An American author and magazine journalist. The quote is taken from the first line of her book, _Womenfolks: Growing Up Down South._

Gandiva – The name of Cid Highwind II's vessel is Gandiva, which is also the name of the bow given to Arjuna by the Fire God Agni in the _Mahabharata_, an Indian epic. Arjuna is arguably the greatest warrior in the _Mahabharata_, both in physical and moral standing, and the Gandiva Bow is his weapon of choice for most of the story. (I also really like Arjuna. If ever you get into Indian mythology, Arjuna's always a cool guy to check out.)

"...Cirrus brought his left foot forward, ... attacks to the lower body." – One of the basic stances of Xingyiquan, an "internal" Chinese martial art (the other two being Baguazhang and Taijiquan) which focuses on internal cultivation and the development of qi (sometimes "chi" or, in Japanese, "ki"). This basic stance is often used for both training and meditation (qigong). When training, the weight is centered almost exclusively on the back leg, which is the reason for the burning sensation in Cirrus's right leg. Sooner or later, this practice gets incorporated into the qigong practice as well.

"A hum of 'Om...' that began..." – The hum you often hear from meditating monks is supposedly the sound of the emptiness, of the sound at the start of the world, though I can't remember where or when I heard this little tidbit. It could be completely false. If so, please let me know. On another note, the meditation here is a rough... VERY rough transliteration of the meditation practices of Daoism – particularly of the poem, "Far Roaming" – in which a person tries to reach the Dao or "The Way." (The difference between "dao" and "hundun" from the last chapter seems... I dunno. I have a suspicion that "hundun" is a more general term for the beginning of the world, whereas "dao" refers specifically to Daoism.)

Black lung disease – A disease commonly found in coal miners that reduces life expectancy. And, if you're paying attention to the timeline, it means that Barret died at the age of 55. Old? Young?


	14. Bereft of Nibelheim

The Final Jerusalem  
By Kaj-Nrig

* * *

Vincent paged through the manual listlessly, his eyes neither particularly fond nor indignant of the words displayed therein. Most of the notes were on various other twisted alterations Hojo had been performing, and only the final mass of pages were devoted to the madman's experiments on him.

_Acquired new specimen. Prime candidate._ He grunted, wriggling his body within the confines of the bed. _Only you, Hojo. Only you could think of such a thing._ Grimacing at the decidedly unnatural burning sensation beneath his shoulder blades, Vincent sank back down into the bed.

It'd been three days since the events in Lucrecia's Cavern, and the words Jenova had spoken continued to stick with him, to haunt him. Questions, more now than ever, flooded through his mind; he could almost hear the gentle peals of laughter coming from the Jenova inside him whenever he concentrated on them. So he tried not to concentrate, but with the sheer physicality of the book in front of him, Vincent couldn't help but feel bedraggled and weary.

Quietly, the gunslinger rummaged a few sheets ahead, his neck straining as it peered down the horizon of his chest at the book's open pages.

"'Commencing experiment,'" he muttered out loud. "'14:33 – Turk 01 resisting integration with new limb. Turk 01's body appears to reject Jenova infusion. Possibly related to...'" His voice trailed off as he continued to read the final lines in silence.

His interest thoroughly piqued, Vincent flipped the next couple of pages, quickly scanning, but there was nothing else regarding what he'd just read. He flipped, and flipped, and soon he reached the end of the book. Vincent's shoulder's sank even further than before, and he flipped back to the earlier page with slow, disappointed motions.

_...psychological tendencies... psyche changes caused by "an innate ability to consciously manifest his id..."_ What did that mean? Had Hojo been talking about his demons? About Chaos?

And what was this about mental history?

Suddenly furious, Vincent flung the book across the room, eliciting a painful protest from his shoulders, and he fell back down, exhausted.

_Questions, questions, questions..._ he mumbled to himself, hoping to bore a hole through the ceiling with his eyes. _Always, more and more questions. Never answers._

There were never enough answers. And even the few answers he did receive only fathered more questions.

Scowling, the gunslinger continued to lie morosely in bed, his thoughts scattering everywhere as he stared out into the windowed sky.

* * *

**The Final Jerusalem**  
Chapter Fourteen: Bereft of Nibelheim

_There are secrets that we still have left to find  
There have been mysteries from the beginning of time  
There are answers we're not wise enough to see  
He said, "You looking for a clue? I love you free..."_

_- Five For Fighting, "The Riddle"_

* * *

Akira had been expecting to get up and leave without much fanfare. He'd intentionally kept his clothing free of anything that would give his heritage away; it consisted only of a few layers of polyester shirts and loose, comfortable drawstring pants, and though it was obviously made of finer material than most, it was hardly uncommon apparel for a traveler. The only blemish upon his person was a smooth, vibrant sash of pink that hugged around his waist, but he had chosen it specifically because it denoted a higher class without telegraphing his nationality. He knew of the not-so-subtle stereotypes that outsiders constantly threw at Wutai, and he hadn't wanted to be bothered by such trivial things while following Vincent-san's trail.

So how had he ended up in this situation, surrounded on all sides by a mob of expectant residents interrupting his breakfast?

With a nervous murmur, he waved off one question, but another came, and another, and another, this one about the ninja magic, that one about the martial arts, another about the beliefs in Leviathan's mystical powers, and on and on and on.

"C'mon, show me a ninja star!"

"I betcher katanas are in yer bag, huh?"

"Yeah, show us some ninja moves! Like, assassinate him or something!"

"Where're those fancy kim-on-uhs you always wear, Wutai guy?"

"Hey, I bet you're really smart! Say something in Wutainese!"

"Is it true you Wutainese leave your corpses outside for the vultures to eat?"

As the crowd pressed in around him, Akira felt himself shrink back more and more, a mixture of anxiety, frustration, piety, and anger causing him to become painfully self-conscious. "Um, actually, ninja stars... katana... I'm not a... that is... what? Vultures? ...um, pardon me, everyone, but I already said..."

"Hey, all of you shut up and get away from the poor man! If he says he ain't Wutainese, he ain't, so leave him alone and let him eat his breakfast!" the inn owner cried out, rudely shoving past a few of the denizens as he carried a small pitcher of juice to the table. The large man, patches of graying stubble dotting his rugged face, gave Akira a warm smile as the crowd dispersed. "This one's on the house, sir. Sorry 'bout the locals bothering you."

"That's quite alright, sir. I apologize for forcing this inconvenience upon you," Akira stated respectfully, causing the old man to laugh.

"Nah, it ain't a problem. Though if you talk like that much longer, all respectful-like and everything, your story won't be very convincing, Your Highness." Akira looked at him, stunned, and the man only laughed a bit more. "Oh, trust me, Your High- sir," he said as a passerby came just a bit too close for comfort, "it wasn't hard to guess after what you said to me and my wife last night. 'I am but a humble vagrant seeking lodging for the night. Oh, and ignore the expensive clothing I've got on and my accent and the two swords I'm carrying around with the royal crest of Wutai on 'em.' After you asked about that group that came before you, we were even more convinced." Before Akira could respond, though, the inn keeper just as quickly began again, "Nah, I won't pry. I'm sure you've got your reasons and all that. Speaking of which, you remember what we told you, right?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, smiling lightly and nodding. "You said that they departed a few days ago, most likely on their way to Cosmo Canyon. Correct?"

"Yep, that's about it. Sorry I can't help you more."

"No, you were of great assistance. Thank you very much."

The man made to return to the main desk and spared Akira one last glance. "No problem, Makatian. It happens again, though, and your ass is gone from here," he stated, just loud enough so that the dispersed members of the crowd could hear and with just enough lackadaisical menace to be convincing.

That comment made Akira feel a bit better. A Makatian was a native of Makatewaki. As he looked around, Akira could already see people returning to their original activities, all interest in him now nonexistent, as if he had vanished into thin air.

* * *

The noon sun felt good against his back and he was comfortably limber and loose from the morning workout, but Cirrus still stiffened a little bit when he saw Vincent make his way from the house to the well, where the rest of them were waiting. The tough, black-sleeved jacket he usually wore was replaced by a simple white t-shirt, and his cloak was missing altogether. Four pinkish, purplish scars ran down the left side of his face, marring his otherwise handsome and rugged features. The self-inflicted wounds acted as a stark reminder of the events three days past, and Cirrus would've rather not remembered it.

The events at the mountaintop cavern had only lasted a few minutes, but Cirrus was struck at how much longer it felt in his mind's eye. He'd been in his fair share of life or death situations – probably more so than most, thanks to his involvement with the Sephira – but never had he recalled them with the same overwhelming clarity that he did this one. The excitement of battle, the cool breeze coming from the waterfall, the echo of water throughout the endless cavern, and the fear... the fear was most prominent when he thought back on it. It was a fear of the unknown, a deep, visceral fear of the Jenova woman they were facing and the weight of history behind her.

It was a fear of the past.

"I was surprised when she called me here." The low, rumbling baritone voice stirred Cirrus out of his thoughts. "I was even more surprised when she handed me a copy of his book." Vincent carried himself with the same confidence as before, but Cirrus could see how stiff he kept the line of his shoulders. Even the immortal gunslinger was susceptible to lengthy recovery, it seemed.

"Who's 'she?'" Ruana asked curiously.

Vincent only offered a small, brief ghost of an upward curl of the lips before his usual mask of indifference slipped into place. "Are we set?" he asked.

"Yes," Gramps muttered from his perch on the wooden planks above. "Our destination is Bone Village to the north."

"Bone Village?" Cirrus questioned cautiously. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know why they had to go there. "What for?"

Vincent took a look at Gramps, nodded, and turned back to him. "Bone Village is the only way to get to the City of the Ancients without a chocobo."

"Why do we want to go there?"

"That's where..." Again, Vincent glanced at Gramps to confirm something that only the two of them knew, and continued, "That's where Jenova is."

"Speaking of which, what exactly IS this Jenova? You said that the monster we fought crossing the ocean and the woman in the cave were Jenova. How can she be two different things at once?" Ruana asked. Cirrus looked at her oddly, and noticed that there was an apprehension in her eyes, a mixture of hope and... anxiety? She did say that Vincent had something to do with Jenova, but it couldn't possibly have been as foreboding as she was thinking it was, right?

"Jenova isn't a single entity like you or me," Gramps corrected her. "Because of that, 'she' is also neither male nor female. Jenova is more like a... a..."

"A collective consciousness," Vincent finished, not without a dash of ire. "A virus. It invades and takes over other sentient life forms, and each cell shares its mind with all the other parts of itself."

"So..." Cirrus pondered. "Are you saying that that giant dinosaur we fought, that thing was just a... I dunno, a part of the whole or something?"

"Yes," Vincent agreed.

That elicited a laugh from the young man, a bitter, mocking laugh. "Wow. You really know how to pick your enemies, you know that? Man, that means there are more of those huge mon-"

"It's inside you, isn't it?" Ruana interrupted, the earlier apprehension that Cirrus had seen now evident on her face.

Vincent regarded her with ice in his eyes, and even though the gaze wasn't aimed at him, Cirrus felt himself shudder just the slightest bit. "Yes," the gunslinger answered after a lengthy pause.

The skin on the back of Cirrus's neck immediately began to stand on end. Jenova was inside Vincent? But hadn't he just said that Jenova invaded and took over other sentient life forms? The urge to draw his weapon on the gunslinger spiked like a hot dagger into his head; since he'd first met Vincent, it had always been bubbling just under the surface of his self-control. What if the man had really been lying to them all this time? What did he have planned?

"B-but you're..." Ruana began, and he noticed the way her hands unconsciously edged closer to her own blades. He was glad for that; at least she wasn't completely wooed over by Vincent's good looks.

Gramps leapt softly down to the ground. "It's complicated, Ruana," he quickly stated in a calm, peacemaking voice. "To be honest, it's almost impossible to know when or even if someone will be taken over by Jenova. We learned that fifty years ago."

A tense silence followed, as both Vincent and Gramps glanced at each other again, only to look away slowly, two equally painful and warring expressions on their countenances. Cirrus looked back and forth at the two, wondering what was so unfortunate that it could have overtaken both of their usual expressions. "W-what, what is it?" he asked finally.

"What happened fifty years ago?" Ruana added.

The two shared another glance, another frustratingly silent conversation taking place in the space between their eyes. At last, after it seemed like hours had passed, Vincent replied matter-of-factly, "Fifty years ago, Cloud Strife was taken over by Jenova and killed Tifa Strife, your grandmother."

"What!?" both Ruana and Cirrus exclaimed in unison. Cirrus tossed Gramps a look, and the dog nodded in solemn agreement.

"You're kidding me, right?" Cirrus demanded, his fists clenching. Oh, this Jenova thing was sounding less and less amicable the more he heard about it. On top of attacking him, the thing had been responsible for his grandmother's death!? If he had known that, he would've... he would've made sure it had never escaped that cavern. "Cloud Strife, our GRANDFATHER Cloud Strife, was manipulated by this thing!?"

Vincent nodded. "Yes. We followed him to the City of the Ancients, and that's where we stopped him."

Another silence permeated the quartet. Cirrus clenched and unclenched his fists, his emotions swirling around inside him. The anger and resentment he'd always felt toward his grandfather... was it really justified? How could he possibly be sure now, after hearing this? That uncertainty made his blood boil even hotter, and he struggled against the effort to simply punch the nearest object. Hatred, overwhelming hatred, flooded his senses, but he didn't know where to direct it – at his grandfather for abandoning them, at his father for not realizing the truth, at Jenova for causing all of it, or at Vincent for keeping it from him? There were so many avenues for his pent-up rage, but...

"How do we know you're not lying? How do we know you aren't already under Jenova's control?" he hissed, drawing a bemused stare from Vincent in the process.

"Because I know he isn't." Before anyone could say more, though, Gramps walked past. "We can discuss the hows-"

"Why did you lie to us?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and the way Gramps's canine face fell made him feel sick to his stomach. He knew it hadn't been a fair question, but... but Gramps had lied to him! His lifelong mentor!

"...as I was saying, we can discuss the hows and whys another time, children. For now, let's focus on getting to Bone Village."

Vincent nodded, apparently unfazed by Cirrus's anger. Or his accusation. Or his mistrust. Or him in general. _Self-centered son of a..._

"What is the fastest way to get there?"

Cirrus bit back a hasty taunt; no matter what his own thoughts were about the man, Gramps believed and respected him. The least he could do was offer the same respect, if not the same belief. "We should head to Ganymede. There's sure to be a flight there that'll take us straight to Gaea."

"Ganymede?" Vincent wondered, looking questioningly at first Gramps, then Cirrus, then finally Ruana. His gaze didn't linger long on her, Cirrus noticed.

"It is a city near Gongaga. There are hardly any international airlines that don't pass through it. Cirrus is correct; we will most likely be able to charter a flight to Gaea there," Gramps explained evenly.

"We'll be able to stop by home and re-supply, too," Ruana added, almost meekly.

Vincent shook his head decisively. "It'll take at least two weeks to get to Gongaga, and that's if we don't stop. We should go back to Rocket Town and speak to Nuboko."

A visible twinge went through the three others present at the mention of the name. Ruana turned away as a look of pained sympathy washed over her, and Gramps looked somewhat astonished, but Cirrus only felt the boiling in his body find something to focus on.

"What makes you think he'd be able to get us there?" he asked, feeling the lid, so tightly sealed on his anger, start to groan under pressure. "His ship's a wreck, remember?"

Vincent turned an unflinching gaze on him and answered, "He knew someone named Meier who was near Bone Village when Jenova attacked. We could go with him back up there. The trip will take much less time."

"Are you serious?" It didn't take long for that proverbial lid to pop off. "Are you SERIOUS!?" He thrust a finger at the gunslinger, not trusting himself to do anything beyond that. "He just lost four of his best friends, you prick! What the... How... Who... Who the fuck do you think you are!?" He waited for a response, but Vincent simply continued to look at him with those disgustingly blank yet deadly eyes.

Blood filled his vision and he suddenly found his hands on the other man's chest, shoving him back. "You talk about Nuboko like he's some tool again and I'll-"

Halfway through his tirade, Vincent retaliated, inhumanly powerful and graceful despite his injuries, and Cirrus fell back into the side of the well. "Do you think I care!? DO YOU!?" the mad gunslinger hissed, his voice seeming to boom like the hammer strikes of a thunderstorm. His muscles flexed dangerously beneath his t-shirt as he rushed up and pinned Cirrus to the structure. To the side, Cirrus faintly saw Gramps yelling at both of them, preparing to intervene.

"I empathize with him, Mr. Strife," Vincent whispered dangerously to him, his hell-blazing eyes only a few inches away. "I do. But you, NONE of you – not you or your sister or Mr. Highwind – can understand the magnitude of the situation! Jenova is bigger than each and EVERY one of you!" Cirrus struggled against Vincent's grip, planting the boots of his toes down and clenching his fingers down on the other's wrists. Vincent's eyes pulsated into an almost mesmerizing ruby rage, and Cirrus was roughly rattled around until his own grip loosened. "I can, Mr. Strife!" Vincent said to emphasize the point. "I know better than ANYONE what Jenova does, and I am going to stop it! So no, I do NOT care what personal suffering Mr. Highwind has to go through!"

"Vincent!"

Gramps's voice cut through the venomous atmosphere like a surgeon's knife. Cirrus continued to hold his steely gaze steady with Vincent's, and neither man moved from their respective positions. His hands found their way back to Vincent's rigid forearms, but he made no move to force the other man off. If either of them was going to relinquish their places, he would be damned if it was him.

"Let him go," Gramps commanded. Neither of them budged. "NOW!" he snarled. Cirrus almost didn't think anything would happen, but after battling each other's eyes for a moment longer, the two separated, shoving rudely off each other. Their eyes never left each other, though, even as Vincent stepped back. "Are we done?" Gramps demanded.

"...yes, Grandfather," he answered, hands still clenched into fists as he watched Vincent for any sign of movement.

"We are going to Ganymede," Gramps announced with an air of finality.

"No-"

"Stop!" The old dog snapped. "I don't want to hear it! Ruana? Let's go." That said, he turned and made for the town's main exit. Vincent, for his part, did not so much as flinch, and Cirrus followed the gunslinger's suit.

The apprehension built between them, and when Vincent finally moved, Cirrus instinctively brought his hands into a stance. But there was no need, as Vincent simply stalked past him and up toward the looming mountains to the north.

"Vincent!" Gramps called exasperatedly. "Do you really think that getting to the City of the Ancients sooner will make any bit of difference? Jenova will still be a part of you whether you get there in two days or two weeks."

Vincent either didn't hear him, which was unlikely – Cirrus could make a reasonable guess as to just how good his hearing was – or he didn't bother to respond.

Cirrus looked at Gramps reluctantly, wondering just what the old dog was going to do. After careful consideration, Gramps's voice floated across the courtyard, "We're going to Ganymede whether you like it or not. If Jenova takes over you while you're on board that ship, what do you think will happen?"

For some reason, Vincent suddenly came to a stop. Cirrus furrowed his brow questioningly, looking to his sister for answers. When he saw the slow spread of shocked realization on her face, his stomach fell. _Oh, Christ, what is it now?_ he wondered glumly.

"You won't take that risk."

"You're right. But I don't think you will, either."

"...I'll handle it."

"No, you won't. You know you won't, Vincent."

_Handle it? Handle what? What the hell are you talking about, Gramps?_

"You need to stay with us, Vincent. Come on, let's go." When it was clear that Gramps wasn't compromising on the issue, Vincent finally turned and began to make his way back to the group. "Thank you, Vincent."

"Hm," was Vincent's curt reply.

Both Ruana and Gramps placed themselves between the two men as they exited the town, a gesture Cirrus instantly picked up on. Still, he wasn't in the mood for a fight anymore, so unless Vincent said something outrageous again, there wasn't going to be any more brawling for the day.

Cirrus really wanted him to say something.

He took another look at his sister, and noticed that she was regarding the other two with concern and panic written all over her face.

Whatever she had realized, it was not good. At all.

* * *

Being from a more rustic setting like Cosmo Canyon had its disadvantages, and the financial one was all the more apparent as they left town. Nanaki didn't mind the change in pace, though. The extended walk – hiking through the fields and forests with naught but a survival tent to sleep in – brought back some very fond memories for him. In his opinion, all these roads and highways and other mixtures of gravel and asphalt were a horrible stain on the beautiful face of nature, like some hideous web of scars spread across its body.

But maybe he was getting ahead of himself. They were still walking along the main road in and out of Nibelheim, though the roadwork was becoming dustier and dustier as they went. Still, he couldn't help but feel just a bit nostalgic anticipating the next few days in the full embrace of nature. Vincent wouldn't appreciate it, certainly – he'd be too broody over having been bested logically – but Nanaki couldn't find it in himself to care much at that moment.

He looked back at Cirrus and Ruana, who had almost unconsciously trailed behind Vincent and himself. They were back far enough that he couldn't pick up their hushed whispers, but he had no doubt as to what they were talking about. He sighed; he'd have to talk to Vincent sooner or later, try to smooth things over. He just didn't want to.

"...Vincent," he said with a touch of caution. Vincent didn't answer. _Oh, this'll be fun._ "Vincent," he repeated.

"What?" came the monotonous snap – Vincent proved to him that such a contradiction was possible – and Nanaki had to keep from barking at the gunslinger again.

"I want you to understand why we're going to Ganymede."

"I understand."

The urge to bite him was strong in Nanaki's mind, but he instead took a few moments to calm himself. Ignoring Vincent's statement, he replied, "Cirrus and Ruana and I aren't as... resilient as you. They may not show it, but those two are fatigued from the battles against Jenova. They've never been in true life or death situations until now, and they need some time at home to recuperate."

He glanced at Vincent, who continued to stare passively forward. "As for myself... well, I'm getting old." He laughed lightly, and when he glanced up into Vincent's face, he saw that some of the relentless rigidity had softened somewhat. "This will also allow us to prepare more fully for whatever happens," he continued.

Silence descended upon the two for a while longer, and though the emotions from the argument in the middle of the square still created an uncomfortable wall between the two of them, it had eroded enough to become bearable.

"...I'm going to leave the kids, too." Vincent turned to him at that statement, and though his facial expression didn't show it, the gunslinger had clearly been caught off-guard. "They're not my children, Vincent. I don't have the right to put them in harm's way. Once we get to Cosmo Canyon, I'll inform them of my decision."

He wasn't expecting a response, but to his surprise, Vincent nodded in agreement. "That's for the best."

Vincent's encouragement caused a weight to lift from Nanaki's shoulders, and he was surprised at the sensation. Had he been looking for Vincent's approval? If he had been, it wasn't surprising – the two of them were the only remnants of a life past, and he probably cherished their relationship more than he realized.

"Is what you said true?" he asked. "Do you really not care about them?" He watched the play of emotions on Vincent's face with rapt attention – the expression almost never changed much, but what little changes there were told Nanaki a great deal about the man.

Finally, after carefully considering the question, Vincent answered, "I do not know them." Nanaki nodded in sympathy. Although he could relate to the man, he would probably never truly understand the pain Vincent had gone through. Nevertheless, he imagined that it would require a lot of healing, an understatement if ever there was one. _To live one life and lose the one you love... then to start a new life and gain another love, only to lose that one, as well... That you are still here amazes me, Vincent._

"That doesn't answer my question," he prodded gently. He glanced back at the twins to draw Vincent's attention to them; beyond a quick nod, the man didn't appear to acknowledge them at all.

"...I don't know," Vincent finally answered, and there was a barely noticeable hitch in his voice as he responded. It didn't take much to guess what had caused that hitch. Or, rather, who. "I... we'll see."

Nanaki harrumphed lightly and continued pacing, pressing forward until he was a few paces ahead of Vincent. His uncharacteristic hiccup caused Nanaki's own thoughts to settle on Yuffie Kisaragi, the young ninja queen who, eons ago, had somehow managed to break into the vault of Vincent's heart.

_You were—You are truly the most important person to him, Yuffie,_ he said. _He loves you so much. I wonder if you had any idea how lucky you were._

* * *

**Interlude: Sunlight on the Gorge**

"God, Vinnie, why do _I_ have to go on these stupid trips?" Vincent expertly and discreetly stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding Yuffie's flailing arms in the process. The two of them made it to the crest of a gently sloping hill. Surrounding them, the local environment was a fresh and vibrant mixture of green pastures and bamboo forests. As he peered into the distance, he saw the small gorge that was their destination, and on the other side of it, the shapes of houses and the tufts of smoke that rose from afternoon fires.

"You are the princess," he answered succinctly.

"Well... YEAH, but...!" Yuffie paused, wisely deciding to be careful with her choice of words. She had come to the realization that "you ENJOY turning my words on me, don'tcha?" long ago, and the spirited young princess had made it her mission to verbally best him at least once while he was still a resident of Wutai. Vincent, for his part, had never given an answer to her accusation, but the truth was that he DID enjoy their little battles every now and then.

"You are on a goodwill mission to the Hikama Village, Yuffie. You know that." Vincent reached down and fiddled once again with the curved sword at his hip; he shifted it around his sash until it rested nearer the small of his back, then growled impatiently as his forearm bumped into the blade's handle. He'd been studying kenjutsu for the past few months now, and although he enjoyed its esoteric roots and philosophical values, he found that whenever he traveled with Yuffie, the damned sword he'd received would always encumber his movements in one way or another. The gunslinger now respected Cloud's skills with the blade even more than before, but he would always prefer his Quicksilver to an oversized filleting knife.

Yuffie eyed his struggles with open amusement, seeming to forget altogether the discussion they'd been having. After watching another bout of incessant frustration – one which culminated in him finally removing the offensive weapon from his person – Yuffie finally began to giggle to herself and took the proffered katana. "Wow, Vinnie, who knew you were such a klutz?" she teased while motioning for him to turn around. He let her small, deft hands work at the red sash at his back, tugging it gently so as not to loosen it too much.

_Why am _I_ here?_ he wondered briefly. Today was his day off, and yet here he was, standing in the Wutai countryside with Yuffie fussing over him like a mother hen.

"Because I like you."

He turned his head, surprised – had he really said that out loud? – and from between his shoulder blades, he heard a short, spirited laugh. "I mean, none of the other bodyguards are anywhere near as much fun as you are, Vinnie. And besides..." The young ninja placed the sword back into his sash, and then, after a quick motion, slid it in until it was perfectly balanced against his tailbone. "It's not like you were doing anything. Just some of your stupid 'Ommm Ommm Ommm'ing."

He frowned disapprovingly at her when she came back within sight. "Meditation is not stupid, Yuffie."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Vinnie, let's get going." Vincent made to stop her – the girl was overstepping even HER boundaries – but paused when he noticed something was off. Actually, something didn't feel... normal, almost like he was missing something. "Heheheh. Pretty good, huh?" He reached behind him and felt the katana, neatly and comfortably nestled within the folds of his crimson sash.

"...how?"

She winked and brought a finger to her lips. "Uh uh. Secret," she answered before turning around again to skip down the path. "Now c'mon. Let's go, Vinnie."

He took a few steps, testing the sword's balance. It didn't hinder him in any way, and it even felt... not invasive. "...thank you."

"Sure. No prob."

Her words came out casually enough, but when he glanced at her, he noticed that her cheeks had a light flush to them.

* * *

**Fields of Gold**

Nuboko knew that the funeral was going to be a sordid affair. He had contacted Tae Yong and Jerome's family two days earlier, and now family and friends were gathering for the wake to mourn the passing of the four deceased crewmen.

Makoto, one of the youngest, had no family to call. When he'd first met Makoto, Nuboko had felt a deep kinship with him. Both were Wutainese, both shared a love for the sea... and both were orphans. They had often spent night after night recounting tales of similar adoption agencies, similar foster parents, similar group homes.

He looked around the table at his three companions, and then to the next room, where the aforementioned family and friends were mulling about in that half-dead, half-alive way that could only result from an unexpected death. Deaths.

He and Makoto had been residents of a local orphanage named Sharing Homes In New and Righteous Arms, and at the same time, as well. When they had both realized this fact, he recalled, they had spent countless hours recounting the tales of such-and-such persons and such-and-such memorable moments.

As he cradled the large glass of... something... in his hands, Nuboko stared out Mrs. Tcirchon's kitchen window, a small, hexagonal portal of glass situated above the sink. Clouds and blue sky were all he saw, and he wondered briefly what his dead comrades were doing up there. Could they swim through those wispy clouds like they had through the oceans? Did they look down at the world, at the blue-green expanse, and miss it? Did Makoto reminisce about their time together?

Out of the corner of his eye, Nuboko caught a glance of a familiar fabric, and he turned back to the family room. There it was again, a flowing flicker of golden chrysanthemum on purple silk, meandering through the crowd of mourners like mist through a forest. He traced it with heavy-lidded eyes – the alcohol was already starting to work its way through his body, apparently – until it stopped at the far end of the room, next to a small countertop filled with pictures... of Michael and Kaze, of Tanaka, of Jerome, of Michael and Jerome and Hareton, of Tanaka and Michael, and finally, of all eight of them together. Makoto was present only in that last one.

Nuboko stood cautiously, giving Kaze's glance a shushing wave, and, after clearing his head, made his way to the impromptu memorial.

She would have been unrecognizable had it not been for the folded kimono in her arms. He still nearly mistook her; all the times he had seen her, she had been wearing that chrysanthemum-covered kimono, not holding it. This time, though, the wizened woman wore a kimono of the darkest grays and blacks, colors that suited the occasion. Her graying and thinning hair was pulled back into a bun, revealing the wrinkles that were starting to make permanent residence on her face. Her auburn irises had lost some of their color, and they were now surrounded by red tendrils. Her shoulders, which had always been shy, now almost seemed defeated in their posture.

He could understand defeat.

"Takahashi-okaasan," he murmured respectfully as he approached. When she turned to him, she smiled sadly, and he immediately bowed his head. "I-I'm sorry. I should've let you know earlier."

Takahashi-okaasan gently hushed him before placing her hand on his chest to smooth the rumpled clothing. He'd slept in those clothes last night, and it showed. With her other hand, she clenched the kimono even tighter to herself, as if afraid that it would jump loose at any moment. "No, no, Boko-chan," she whispered lovingly, her voice coming out just a bit raspy, and Nuboko assumed that she had probably been crying recently. It certainly wasn't a wonder why. He made no move to stay her hand as it fussed with his attire, trailing from his chest to his shoulders to his arms and back to his chest. "There is nothing to apologize for," she assured him throughout her ministrations. "Ranma and I were only temporary parents, after all."

They stood like that for some time, she smoothing the wrinkles in his t-shirt, he bowing his head in a mixture of shame and woe. The feel of her frail yet assured fingers on his shirt brought warm, springtime memories to him. He remembered that same hand wrapped around his shoulders as the two of them danced at her daughter's wedding. He remembered the comforting brush of it against his own fingers as it presented him a cup of tea at the end of a chilly day. He remembered Makoto laughing as that hand applied makeup on him, the result of a game of truth-or-dare gone horribly awry.

Makoto's laugh rang through his temples. Exuberant, overjoyed laughter... but tinged with that constant underlying melancholy that Nuboko knew was palpable in his own laughter, as well.

So much alike, the two of them had been. Were. Would always be.

It started with a rocking, a small shudder in his system that made him hiccup out some more. Soon he was fighting just to keep the tears at bay.

"Boko-chan..." Takahashi-okaasan started, running her hand through his heap of brown hair. "Oh, Boko-chan..." She brought him in and embraced him with her one arm, pressing the other between them.

It felt so good to him, this feeling of being cared for, of not having to worry... but he didn't deserve this level of comfort. Not yet, and probably never.

Taking in a deep breath, Nuboko detached himself from her and said, in as solid a voice as possible, "I'm fine, Okaasan." The older woman's expression tightened visibly, surprised at the lack of tears on his face. However, Takahashi-okaasan nodded respectfully before pulling away to focus on the counter. Returning her attention to the small, ornately-framed photograph depicting her former foster son, Takahashi-okaasan presented her purple dress to it.

"Celebrating my son's Return... may all the dreams, courage, and love in the world be yours..."

"Nuboko?" He turned to find Takahashi-otosan and Ranko coming up to them. The elder Takahashi limped slightly, holding a cane in one hand to help steady himself. His hair was flecked with salt and pepper shades, and his features, though still rugged and manly, were struck through and through with the weariness of a harsh life. His dress was a somber, dark kimono, devoid of any embellishments, yet another reminder of the tragedy that had befallen those in the house.

To Takahashi-otosan's side was Ranko. Her fiery hair fell in a long sheet down her back, a sobering departure from her customary wild pigtail. She wore a kimono similar to those of her foster parents, though her obi had a thread of crimson interlaced with it. Her hands peeked out at him from beneath large sleeves, and a deep shock rattled him upon seeing those small, graceful hands. _Has it really been that long?_ he asked himself, wondering when such fun-loving and tomboyish hands had turned so... gentle.

The glint of a golden light on her left ring finger gave him a clue.

"Oh, Nuboko..." she whispered, tears choking their way through her body. He looked into her eyes...

...and he suddenly remembered the smell of barley and the feel of summer rays on his eyelids and the whisper of that cardinal mane cascading onto him...

...but he shook the memory away as they embraced each other. She grasped at the back of his shirt, burying herself in him, and he couldn't help but tighten his own grip on her. A small shudder caused him to sniffle, and for a moment, he thought he could smell that barley again. Oh, but if only he could.

They broke contact finally, and though the painful reality of Makoto's death continued to linger over him, Nuboko was grateful for the reprieve from the misery, temporary though it was. He glanced at Ranko once again, and their eyes met for just another moment-

and there was the scent of-

Then their eyes passed and he went to embrace Takahashi-otosan. Neither man said a word throughout their physical exchange; Nuboko felt the large arms squeeze lightly, belying a strength that came from a lifetime of intensive labor.

When they parted, Nuboko once again lowered his head; the Takahashi were the closest thing Makoto had had to parents, and now, left to explain to them the circumstances of his demise, Nuboko felt deeply ashamed. In fact, they had almost been parents to him, as well, which made everything so much harder. To them, he was more or less Makoto's "oniisan." His lips quivered once before he finally addressed them. "Otos-"

The sting was immediate, followed by another on the other cheek, and then Takahashi-otosan nudged Nuboko's chin up. "You will treat your elders with respect, Nuboko, and look at them when you talk to them. We aren't some damn servants of yours." He nodded once, feeling Takahashi-otosan's firm grip release his chin. "Now. Where are the others?"

Nuboko nodded, struggling to hold his own grief and pain in check. "They're... over by the dinner table, Otosan. Do you wanna talk to them?" Takahashi-otosan nodded, offering his hand to Ranko. When she took it, Nuboko noticed again the golden band on her finger. "Where's your husband, Ranko?" he asked.

Ranko waved off the question. "Oh, Shido had to attend his grandfather's funeral. Today's the final day of the reed-playing, so he told me that he should be back sometime tomorrow." He felt her eyes on him, but he busied himself with leading Takahashi-otosan and tried not to act like he'd noticed.

"That so?" he asked without much joy or interest.

"Yeah," she replied with about as much joy and interest.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sliding of chairs and shuffle of feet. "Takahashi-san," each of the three sailors greeted as they all bowed deeply. Takahashi-otosan smiled lightly at their presentation, but shushed them back down into their seats.

"Please, be calm, everyone," he explained. "I'm just another mourner. I'm no different from anyone else here." Nuboko noticed the small quiver in Takahashi-otosan's lower lip as he spoke, but made nothing of it. The elder man would not have liked having his sadness pointed out in public.

"Have a seat, Takahashi-san." Kaze, the nearest to Takahashi-otosan, offered his seat to the elder, and Takahashi-otosan thanked him as he sat down.

Then, for the next few minutes, there was silence.

Nuboko felt something slip into the crook of his elbow, and when he looked over, Ranko glanced up at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He smiled back, as gently as he could, and squeezed her hand with his free hand.

The one to break the silence was Michael's mother, Ms. Tcirchon, who came into the kitchen carrying an empty tray of snacks. "Oh, Ranko, would you mind helping me, dear? Greetings, Ranma-san, Rumiko-san," she asked quietly. Her eyes blinked once as she took a look at the way Ranko's arm was intertwined with his, but said nothing as Ranko obliged. Turning to the refrigerator, Ms. Tcirchon explained, "I need to get the crackers back out there."

As Ranko left, trying to convince Ms. Tcirchon to leave it to her, Nuboko cleared his throat. "So."

"So," Kaze agreed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"When will the funeral be?" Takahashi-otosan asked, grasping for a pot of tea.

"...we're not sure," Nuboko admitted reluctantly.

"What?" both the Takahashi asked.

"Well..." began Kaze. "I mean, we ain't got much money. The check we got from Nerv Insurance's barely gonna pay for repairin' the Sword, and none of our families' have got any way to pay for a funeral. Why else did they let us work on a transport boat, y'know?"

"So this is about money..." Takahashi-otosan asked wearily.

"Well, yeah, Takahashi-san. I mean, I wish we could give 'em a proper burial and all, but we just ain't got-"

"We might."

Everyone turned to him. "Wait, what? How?" Kaze wondered, clearly interested. When he saw the grimly serious look on Nuboko's face, though, that look of interest turned to dreaded incredulity.

Nuboko steeled himself for the barrage that would come in just a moment and took a breath.

"I... I don't think I can pilot the Sword anymore."

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Bereft of Nibelheim END**

A/N: Well. There you have it. This chapter was both fun and extremely aggravating for me to write. There were two major scenes that were omitted – one of Vincent reflecting on Nibelheim (thus relating to the chapter title) and another involving Seraph Haams. The first one I took out simply because it wasn't necessary; it would've been more of the same rambling on of his, and I didn't think any of that was needed. They'd already spent enough time in and around Nibelheim, I thought. The second scene was cut out mostly to make sure I got this in by the promised deadline (minus a day or two, depending on where you are), but when I thought more about it, I also realized that it helped the story flow much more smoothly.

Random note: I realized where I got the idea for the "mid-story title" thing. In _Neon Genesis Evangelion_, the shows are all multi-titled, with one title showing at the beginning of the show and a separate title showing after the commercial break.

Anyway, thanks for reading thus far and/or reviewing. I know that everybody says that "those reviews keep me going! I just read one and I can sprout wings like Red Bull!!", and although it's not exactly true – after all, no one actually literally feeds off of reviews – they do help to boost my motivation to write. Therefore, many thanks to you, Constant (and Not-So-Constant, and New) Reader.

As always, any and all comments are much appreciated.

**Notes:**

"_He loves you so much. I wonder if you had any idea how lucky you were." _– Mooched off of Mark MacKinnon's _On A Clear Day You Can See Forever_, a _Ranma ½/Sailor Moon_ crossover fanfic.

Kenjutsu – Sword arts.

Sharing Homes In New and Righteous Arms – S.H.I.N.R.A.

"...of golden chrysanthemum on purple silk..." – The choice of chrysanthemum on Takahashi Rumiko's kimono comes from watching the movie _Curse of the Golden Flower_. The purple color was simply inspired by Aoi Sakuraba's purple kimono in _Ai Yori Aoshi_. I've never seen the show, but it was the purple color that constantly popped into my head.

Takahashi Ranma, Rumiko, and Ranko – Ranma is the main character from _Ranma ½,_ which was created by Takahashi Rumiko. Ranko is the oft-used nickname of Ranma's female form.

Okaasan/Otosan – Mother/Father. It is not strictly correct or respectful in Japanese culture to refer to a friend's parents as "okaasan" and "otosan"; however, I felt that, due to my "mixed" nature of Wutainese culture, referring to a friend's mother and father as "So-and-so-okaasan/otosan" would be appropriate.

"Celebrating my son's Return ... the world be yours..." – "Celebrating my daughter's birth... may all the dreams, courage, and love in the world be yours..." – The Music Box, _Xenogears_. This music box is significant not only in its message, but also in the fact that it reminds the main character of a previous life. (I could talk on and on about Xenogears, but I'll stop there.)

"...the smell of barley... that cardinal mane cascading..." – Written while under the influence of Sting's "Fields of Gold."

Reed-playing – In Hmong culture, a funeral can last for days. Reed pipes (qeej) are played throughout this entire process by a succession of musicians in order to guide the deceased's soul safely to the afterlife.

Nerv Insurance – Yes, from the very same half fig leaf company that inadvertently brought about the end of the world.


End file.
